Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

Okay, so the title of this post is a quote from one of my all time favourite movie characters, Inigo Montoya, from my all time favourite movie, The Princess Bride. (If you haven't seen it, I question whether we can be friends.) 

It seems fairly apt given that I have neglected my blog for so long and way too much has happened to cover in detail. So instead I will give a brief summary...

-To use a cliche, I've been juggling work and motherhood and definitely finding it a challenge.

-We bought a house and moved into said house. Love it. Did not love packing and moving. 

-Our littlest family member is now 18 months old and walking here there and everywhere. 

-It's nearly holiday time...

Yes, two more days of work and I will be free for a glorious six week stretch. Though tomorrow is my last day with my gorgeous Kinders and I'm already feeling emotional. Not so emotional that I'm not ready for a break, mind. I can't wait for summertime adventures and lots of time with my family, especially my little boy who I miss so much when I'm working. I'm also looking forward to breathing some life back into this blog. I promise! 

I will leave you with my current favourite photo, taken two weekends ago... 

Birthday Weekend to Mount Cameron, part 1

I am blogging on my phone and will upload this once we return to civilisation. I am so happy to be in the middle of the bush at the Scottsdale High School Field Study Centre with my little family,  my parents, my sister Lisa and her partner Erik. This centre is the base for school camps and as my dad was the Outdoor Ed teacher for years, my sister and I grew up coming here on weekends and holidays with Mum and Dad. It's a huge cabin in the middle of the Tasmanian bush and possibly my favourite place, ever.  

                           

                           

We drove out here in a convey of three cars this morning and after unpacking and having lunch, spent time on the flying fox which is a blast. I haven't been on it in a good few years- last time was before I had an abseiling accident and developed a fear of heights- and I was determined to do it and enjoy it. As soon as Dad had checked my harness and I was good to go, I stepped straight off the platform and my nerves disappeared as I felt pure exhilaration. Lisa took this photo of me once I landed on the other side. 

                                   

Harry brought his Batman costume along and my sister decided to wear the cake and mask and become Bush Woman. 

                                  

I'm now sitting on my bunk holding a sleeping bub (who decided he was not going to have his nap in the portacot, in any way shape or form and wanted to snooze on me instead) while everyone else is outside. Once he wakes up it will be time for Happy Hour- a Mount Cameron tradition of drinks and nibbles in the afternoon, which will be even happier as I will be given some birthday gifts and mysterious cake making has been going on in the kitchen. 

Liam is loving having everyone around as well as standing up at the couches in the big main room. I moved eight couches around to create a play area so he is safely away from the fireplace and he loves walking around the couches, especially when members of his family are sitting on them. 

                         

                           

                                                  Loves his Nan and Pop. 

                                        

We brought a few toys along as you can see. That Duplo window is by far his favourite toy and he usually has it in his hand at home. 

I was worried that if Liam didn't nap in the cot and I got stuck holding him I would feel left out of things but I actually feel very happy and peaceful sitting here on my bunk, looking out the window at the bush and listening to the birds. I am looking forward to feeding the possums tonight (they know that the centre being occupied means there is a good chance of fruit being given to them on the verandah) and sitting around the fire tonight toasting marshmallows. To be continued...

It's fun to be one

So after the drama of having to cancel Liam's first birthday party due to him being so unwell, we held a rescheduled party two weeks later with family and friends. I love to cook and bake and decided I wanted to try my hand at making his special cake...a decision I regretted at 5pm the evening before when I was literally up to my elbows in blue icing and had a 'mum's night out' to get to with the lovely ladies from my Mums and Bubs group (our first catch up without the babies and a rare dinner out for many of us). Who knew using a 'grass tip' icing nozzle to create fur on a Cookie Monster cake would be so time consuming, messy and stressful? I persevered and wasn't unhappy with the end result. 

I then got dressed and ready to go out so I could leave as soon as Liam was settled in bed after his bedtime feed. Rookie mistake- as I was getting him out of the bath he did a giant wee all over my pretty dress. Motherhood! Anyway, after a quick change, a breastfeed and a cuddle I was out the door and on my way. After a year of mostly spending evenings at home it seemed surreal to be out after dark. The girls and I had a lovely time. You hear horror stories about mother's groups but I am very glad I joined and found these lovely friends. 

I was home by 10pm to find that Liam was still snoozing away and had woken once in my absence but had settled after a cuddle from his dad. It's been hard having a baby who, even after a lot if work, still is quite wakeful and I've been hesitant to go out at night. It felt liberating to get out of the house for dinner and we are hoping to do it again soon. 

The party went well and Liam enjoyed playing with some of his little friends. He was spectacularly underwhelmed by his cake but oh well. It tasted good anyway. 

I still find it hard to believe that I have a one year old son. He is such a funny cheeky boy and I miss him a lot on the three days a week I'm back at work. I'm currently on term holidays and have been enjoying lots of time with Liam, Rob and the kids as well as fitting in some time to rest and recharge during Liam's naps. Pesto has discovered that I may be on the couch at certain times as well and has been using it to his advantage. 

We are off into the true Tasmanian wilderness on Friday to celebrate my 30th birthday at Mount Cameron. If I find it hard to believe that I have a one year old, I find it even harder to believe that I am turning thirty! I don't feel thirty. It should be a great weekend and I can't wait to head into the bush. 

A pox on you

What's been happening around here? Many things... 

So my little Liam is one year old. I have no idea how that happened. His birthday was on Sunday and we had a Sesame Street party with our nearest and dearest planned, but spanners were thrown when he went and caught chickenpox. Yep. I ended up in the emergency room on Friday night with a very sick and dehydrated little boy and a sense of panic, after two sleepless nights and a lot of unhappiness from my baby. Rob had to stay at home with the other two children, who were slumbering on oblivious to all the drama. His sister happened to be in town, having flown in for their grandmother's funeral, and came to the hospital to be with me and take turns holding and rocking our miserable little one. Four hours later we were home again, reassured that we were doing all the right things at home and that the rash that had popped up within an hour wasn't as sinister as I had feared. The emergency room on a Friday night is a strange place. No one wants to be there and no one wants to look at anyone else, but yet you can't help looking and wondering. 

I was very glad to get home and also glad I had gone for peace of mind. Saturday was spent holding Liam in my arms as whenever he is sick he just wants to be held. 

Not many pox on his face- just everywhere else! 

As mentioned above we had a party planned for Sunday but in light of the chickenpox we postponed it and just had close family come over for presents. My wonderful mother organised food and a little cake at the last minute as I was too exhausted to even think about that stuff. He perked up a little but was nowhere near his happy self and wasn't what you could call impressed by his presents. 

       

Even though he had no appetite we offered him a bit of cake to try (baby's first sugar...) but that didn't impress him much either. I was just so grateful to have him breastfeeding again. He is all about breastfeeding normally but didn't want a feed for 24 hours as he felt so unwell, starting from 5am Friday, which along with the rash prompted my dash to emergency that evening. As well as being desperately worried that he wouldn't feed and only wanted a few sips of water, I felt lost not feeding him. It is so special to me and gives me such a sense of joy and peace and fulfilment. When he finally accepted a feed on Saturday morning I cried with relief and knew he would be okay. 

He is on the mend now and we are definitely starting to see our happy boy reemerge. The rash is awful and I feel terrible for him. I feel like I've come through a war (a feeling any parent with a sick child will find familiar!) and am utterly exhausted. It's also been exhausting being back at work, though I have settled in again faster than I thought I would. I am loving finding my feet as a Kinder teacher again though it is hard being away from Liam three days a week. We have also had a lot going on with a death in the family and other family members flying in. 

We have rescheduled Liam's party for a few weeks time and I am hoping it all goes well, particularly my attempt to make a Cookie Monster cake. 

A fairly joyless post unfortunately. My next one should be full of party goodness. A few weeks from now is my 30th birthday (WHAT???!!) and I am very excited about a little trip we will be taking into the true Tasmanian wilderness, so expect a post about that, too...

I leave you with a shot of someone in the house who remains unaffected by all the recent stress and turmoil. Though she did get her claw stuck in the carpet briefly today, which must have been very upsetting. 

A poem for my sweet boy

Tomorrow, my maternity leave ends. I wrote the following for my Liam.

I will hold you close against my heart

Kiss your cheek, and in your softness feel at peace 

Hold you close and breathe you in, deeply, sweetly. 

I will feel your hand against my skin 

Small and trusting, safe and warm

And feel your fingers stroke me

With love and gentleness. 

On your breath, the sweet scent of my milk 

Rising like a promise, like a poem

Hold you, nourish you, keep you safe

And in your heartbeat, hear my own. 

I will kiss you goodbye, and feel the pain of parting

I will feel my arms yearn to hold your trusting weight

I will say farewell, sweet boy, and walk away 

But I will still be yours, and you mine

Every time for me, a little death 

The pain of parting, the hearts beating alone 

Every time for me, and each for you. 

I will walk into your sight 

Work-weary, pressed down by my day 

But in seeing you, your smile, such a joy

Sweet balm for the spirit and the soul

I will take you into my arms 

And hold you tight 

And kiss your cheek 

And feel our hearts together, 

Beating just as strongly as they ever did, 

And I will see the whole world in your smile. 

And I will be the whole world in your eyes. 

The five second rule gone wrong

So we've all heard of the five-second rule. Wherein if you drop a piece of food, it's fine to eat it if you grab it within five seconds. I am a believer in this rule. Rob is not. To be fair, as he is visually impaired I can see why he doesn't subscribe to this theory. He doesn't allow the children to do so either and thinks it's gross when I do it. But I do it anyway. Because let's face it...as a busy mum, if I am grabbing a piece of chocolate on my way through the kitchen and it slips out of my sleep-deprived fingers and hits the kitchen floor- well, that's my chocolate and I am going to eat it, damn it.

However, I may have recently taken things too far. 

It was last Friday night and the kids and baby were all asleep in bed so Rob and I were enjoying some grown-up time. (By this I mean sitting on the couch in our pjs watching half an hour of a movie before I declare I am too tired and head to bed at 8pm. The wild life of motherhood.) To complete the cosy scene, my cat Pesto was nestled against my legs, purring like no tomorrow. He is much cuddlier in the colder months, leading me to feel slightly used. 

On this particular night, Rob and I felt peckish so he went to raid the pantry for something vaguely resembling junk food. It being the end of the week, I didn't hold out much hope. He returned with a Tupperware container half full of cheese flavoured rice crackers that we put in the children's lunch boxes. Crunchy, cheesy, vaguely resembling junk food. As he put the open container on the couch between us, Pesto leaned forwards with interest to sniff at it but then decided it was too much effort and settled back against my legs. 

We crunched into them as we continued watching (look, I just said it was 'a movie' but we may have been watching Titanic. Don't judge us) and all too soon they were gone. Drat. I was starting to enjoy the strangely orange cheese flavour. I got up and left the room to wash my hands and when I returned saw a piece of cracker where I had been sitting, which I had obviously dropped. 

Completely without thinking, I grabbed it and put it in my mouth, only to discover to my dawning horror that it was soggy. 

Soggy. 

Cat....interested....sitting next to me...oh God. 

Yep, I now had a piece of cracker in my mouth that the cat had tasted and then spat out. I guess he didn't like the powdered orange cheese. 

After I ran to the sink and spat it out myself, I explained to Rob what had happened as he had only heard my noises of horror. He immediately began laughing uproariously while telling me it served me right and that it would teach me. 

Has it? Maybe. Probably not. But next time I will be more careful and make sure the five second rule is actually only five seconds. I love my cat, but that love doesn't extend to eating food he has had in his mouth and then rejected. No way. 

Ready or Not....

So... In one month I will be saying farewell to maternity leave, kissing my sweet boy goodbye a few days a week and heading back to work. That year went INSANELY quickly. I have loved having so much time at home with my boy and I am really dreading my return to work. I think it will be hard on both of us but...I know we can do it. At least I have a job that I enjoy, though like all jobs there are good bits and bad bits. Here are some things I'm looking forwards to about returning to teaching...

*Having a pay check. Yep. I put that one first. I've been on Leave Without Pay for a while now after using all my paid leave and I'm not going to pretend I'm not wildly excited about actually being paid again. 

* Moments of hilarity throughout the day due to the fact that kids really do say the darnedest things. Like the time I was singing Five Little Ducks with my kinder class and rhetorically asked "Where do you think the little ducks are?" only to have one boy answer "Perhaps a fox dragged them away and ate them." Or the time a grade 2 student was playing a language game and arranging word cards to make sentences...and proudly read out "My dad rides the hairy mother." Moments like that require an intense amount of willpower in order not to burst out laughing. I love it, really I do. 

* Watching children grow and develop under my care. Sounds cliched but it's true. 

* Having fun with my students. Am I the only teacher joining in on the playground and going down the slide or riding tandem on little pedal bikes or dressing up in strange op-shop fashions in the costume corner? Yes. Do I care that I'm the only one? No. Playing rocks, and students adore having their teacher join in on the fun. 

And here are some things I am not looking forwards to...

* Germs. Kids have a lot of them and they have no qualms about sneezing or coughing right into one's face. Yuck. Teachers pick up a lot of colds. 

* Staff meetings. Enough said. No one enjoys them. No one. 

* Having to have my act together ready to leave the house at 7.45 in order to be at work by 8 so I have time to organise stuff before the students arrive at 8.30 onwards. Those people who snidely remark that teaching must be "an easy job- 9 to 3 and so many holidays!" clearly have no idea. I am up early these days, of course (it happens when you have a baby) but that doesn't mean I am dressed and ready to face the day that early. Blerrrggghhh. 

* Missing my boy. It's going to be hard. I know that. As I said before, it will be hard for both of us and I expect the transitional period to be tough. However, I know he will be in such good hands with either his daddy or his nan and pop. And I know that seeing this cheeky face when I return home will fill me with such joy. 

(Inside out jumper on head= court jester) 

Until next time... 

What I Should Be Doing

We had one of those days on Saturday. 

Liam has become a lot better at napping since we went through sleep school but still has the odd 'off' day and Saturday was one of them. Basically he told naps and self settling to eff off and decided he wanted to have all his naps on me after/during extended breastfeeding sessions. He let me know about his decision in no uncertain terms. 

The morning session lasted an hour. An hour of sitting there holding my sweet boy while he nursed and snoozed, snoozed and nursed. Then he woke up, we walked up to the polling station with the children and then hit up the playground, and then came home in time for his afternoon nap. 

Nope. That one was a ridiculous idea too. So once again I found myself on my bed, holding him. An hour stretched into two, then towards three. I could hear the rest of the family at the other end of the house. I could hear my own thoughts. 

There were things I needed to get done today while he was napping...there are things I should be doing...I should be stricter on him and persist with getting him into bed. I should be spending time with the rest of the family, doing chores and housework, cooking, working on my scrapbook, having me time...

Then I stopped, and took a breath. I looked at my little boy, so peaceful in my arms, one little hand soft and warm against my breast, his eyes closed as he slept deeply and sweetly. As I held his trusting weight, I realised. What I 'should' have been doing...was exactly what I was doing. Holding, nurturing, loving. Being in the moment with my baby, as he is growing so very fast and all too soon, the times when he lay in my arms and nursed and snoozed, snoozed and nursed will be but a memory. There was no one else who needed me in that moment as he did. And just as equally, I needed him. So I held him a little tighter, and I breathed him in, and I let go of what I should be doing and gave myself to the moment. 

And what a perfect moment it was. 

All Nighters

Staying awake all night in my early 20's looked like this: 

Example 1: Uni assignment due in three days, oh my god! Consume Diet Coke while staring at computer screen. Eventually decide to go to bed and work on it in the morning as far too tired now. Go to bed, be unable to sleep due to caffeine. Lie there, jittery and anxious. Feel alone. 

Example 2: Drinks. Many. Ah, to be 22 again. World of pain to follow. Feel alone in my misery. 

Example 3: My old friend, insomnia. Lie awake for hours, retreat to couch to watch random Nicole Kidman movie and eat toast. Feel alone. 

Now...fast forward to my late twenties. (Pause while I reel in horror that I am in my late twenties. I had a moment the other day when I realised I am three years older than the characters on Friends when the show began. What??!! Next thing we know I'll be the same age as the Sex and the City girls. How did this happen?)

Anyway. I digress. Staying up all night is a different scenario now.

Example 1: Heavily pregnant. Lie on couch as bed has become torture rack. Watch random episodes of Survivor. Feel a little person performing acrobatics in my tummy. Feel close to my unborn baby even in the midst of my sleepless frustration. 

Example 2: Sick baby. The last week has been a long one as my little boy has been very unwell and unwilling to settle anywhere but my arms at night. Last night we progressed to him settling in his pram for short periods but it's still a delicate situation. I don't know about you, but trying to sleep while sitting up holding a 11.5kg seven month old baby is not an easy feat. Tonight he progressed from wanting to be held tight against me to rolling around and making me his personal mattress. Filled with the optimism tinged with desperation one only feels when it is 4.30am and no sleep has been had, I gently lowered him to the bed next to me in the hopes that we could peacefully lie next to each other for a few hours of co-sleeping slumber. The next thing I knew, by the dim glow of the night light, I could see a pair of eyes looking into mine. Then a cheeky grin spread across his face. Then he whispered what sounded like "Oh. Mama," as he rolled towards me, took my face in his hands and chuckled. Yep, the virus is leaving him and returning my happy boy to me. Suddenly I didn't feel so tired. Instead I felt so grateful that even when I am up all night now, I am not alone. 

And the best part? I just put him into his own bed and he has happily self settled after rolling around chatting to himself while I wrote this. It's time for me to bury my head in the pillow, reclaim my bed and my body for the first time in a week and- 

"MEOW!" 

Oh, god. Yep. That would be about right. Come on then Pesto. Feel free to climb aboard and make me into your own personal mattress. 

Goodnight. Xxx

Beneath the ripples of my secret heart

I hold my baby in my arms, watching the perfection of his sleeping face, listening to the steady peace of his breathing, feeling his warmth, smelling the sweet scent of my milk on his breath. It is 4am. My eyes are heavy, so heavy. This is the seventh time I have gotten him back to sleep tonight and I know that when I put him back in bed, I am only buying myself another thirty minutes. Would it be easier to just hold him? I feel the all-consuming weariness of month after month of shattered sleep.

This is your fault. No one else's baby wakes up eight times a night. You have done something wrong. You must have done something wrong to cause his sleeping issues. It's all your fault. 

I sit in the shade of a tree with a group of new friends and their babies. We talk, we laugh, we watch our babies interact, we share trials and tribulations from this journey called motherhood. I manage to laugh, to smile, to enjoy myself. I share that things are still hard.

Shut up. You talk about the problems you are having too much. Surely everyone is sick of hearing about how many times he wakes up and how tired you are. If they aren't tired of you yet, they will be soon.

The baby naps in his bed, mid morning, after a forty minute battle to settle him. I sit on the couch and close my eyes. I try to rest.

Shouldn't you be doing the things you never have time for? Shouldn't you be folding the washing, dusting the bookshelves, tidying that cupboard? Do you want people to think your house is messy? Keep it perfect, please.

The baby drifts off in my arms after his midday feed. I sit on the couch and hold him, letting him sleep, wanting a respite from the battle of getting him to settle in his own bed. Wanting the closeness, the comfort.

You're making it worse! He will never learn to sleep in his own bed if you let him nap in your arms!
 

The words of my harshest critic echo throughout my soul. I know who they are now. They have been named and identified.

I am the voice of Post-Natal Depression. I am not a logical voice. I am not a rational voice. But I am a loud voice, and I will be heard. You will hear me, you will heed me, you will feel me consume you with despair. 

I know you now. I know why I have been feeling like the waters are closing over my head. I know why I have felt in the depths of despair, unable to sleep even when the baby sleeps, unable to deal with any extra stress or change. I know you want to take hold of me. Your voice is loud.

But mine is stronger. My voice endures. My voice is buried under yours for now, but I have done this before and I will do it again. I will fight off the darkness and my voice will be the loudest. I will ask for help. I will take my baby out in the fresh air and breathe in the springtime. I will accept that he is a difficult baby with settling issues that are not my fault. I will spend time with friends, old and new, and accept support. I will marvel in the changes I see as my baby grows day by day. I will feel joy as he smiles, an uncomplicated smile of pure delight and unconditional love, when he sees me. I will cry, and cry, and be held by those who love me, and know that the clouds will part. The sun will shine. My baby will sleep one day and I will feel this dark passenger leave. This too shall pass.

This too shall pass.

I Was Treading Water, Now I'm Starting to Swim

It's been a while.

Boy, has it been a rough road. I love my little Liam more than I can put into words, and we have had some amazing and joyful times together, but having a baby with major sleeping issues has been a challenge, to say the very least. Since my last blog post, Liam has been very unsettled. He stopped sleeping in three hour blocks all night and instead started waking up every hour all night long and being very difficult to settle throughout the day. The first time it happened of a night I said to Rob, "Well, that was a tough night. Here's hoping it doesn't happen again." And then it did happen again. And again. And again. And then it turned into weeks, and then months.

There is a reason sleep deprivation has often been used as a form of torture. There were days when I would just cry and cry. There were nights when Rob and I would get into a silly argument at 3am, both so exhausted that we lost all patience with each other. There were times when I felt like I was going mad. I am quite certain that I became very depressed for a few weeks. Having battled depression for the past 13 years, since I was sixteen (there, I said it- it doesn't have to be a dark secret) I can recognise the signs in myself and I stopped wanting to go anywhere or do anything. Simple tasks became insurmountable. 

Through it all, I just kept on going. I got up each morning and cuddled my little boy and tickled his toes and sang to him and watched him grow. I marvelled that it was possible to exist on so little sleep. I forced myself to take a walk with Liam every day in the fresh air. I started attending a mother's group and made some wonderful new friends who have been a great source of support. 

I kept going. I was treading water, barely staying afloat, but making it through the days.

Through it all, we started to ask for help. I acknowledged the situation to my mother's group and received sympathy and support. I admitted how hard it was on Facebook and found friends with and without children reaching out to me to offer encouragement and advice. My parents returned from the island at long last and were an instant source of help. We asked and asked our Child Health Nurse for more assistance. She was compassionate to some degree but kept telling me that he was waking up so often because he is a big baby and needed extra feeds. I knew it was more than that. We tried to get in to see some of the support staff at Walker House. Calls were not returned, requests for referrals were not deemed necessary. "No one will help us!" I sobbed to Rob in utter despair.

Finally we went to see my GP- my lovely GP Paul, who has been my doctor since I was eight years old. He listened, he asked a few questions. He wrote a referral to Walker House and diagnosed Liam with reflux. Reflux, the cause of many babies being unsettled and waking often. I felt terrible that my little boy had been uncomfortable and in pain. We were given medicine to try and managed to work out how to get Liam to swallow it so that I didn't end up coated in it. 

Slowly, so slowly, things started to improve. Liam started sleeping in his bed during the day for short sleeps- though it was a battle to get him down and involved Rob or I holding him for up to 45 minutes. He started sleeping in a few 2 hour blocks during the night. Rob and I started tending to him in shifts so that we each got enough sleep to get by. I took longer shifts as Rob is handicapped by not being able to breastfeed. 

It was still difficult. I was still exhausted. I was treading water, looking at the shore which was now in sight, keeping my head above water. 

Finally, Walker House got back to me and a child health nurse called Gaylene arranged to visit us at home on Wednesday of this week. I was relieved, anxious and nervous, all at once. Things had started to slide backwards again with more night wakings and I could feel myself starting to sink again. 

It was a difficult day. Gaylene was lovely, kind and supportive but very no nonsense as she told us that though the reflux had led to Liam's frequent wakings, he had gotten into the habit now and we needed to help him learn to go to sleep on his own- without being held in our arms or nursed to sleep. This, she assured us, would lead to him self settling through the night and sleeping for longer. Together, we tried. I stayed strong as she taught me to stay with Liam and support him as he cried in bed by patting, shushing and soft singing. My heart broke watching and hearing my little one cry for me to pick him up. I kept telling myself that I was doing this for him, to help him, to give him the gift of good sleep habits. I reminded myself that he must be just as tired as I am and needs my help. We stayed by his side, her hand on my shoulder when she knew I needed a little extra strength, and I watched him grow calm and begin to soothe himself by sucking his fists. 'How do you feel about a thumb sucker?' she asked with a smile. 

We nearly got there. We were very close, but he was due a feed and she advised it best to get him up while he was calm, feed him and try again next time. She left us with the promise to return the following week. 

I had been sure that Liam would feel hurt or betrayed, but he was as cuddly and loving with me as usual. As soon as he seemed tired again I popped him in bed, kissed his cheek and told him to have a little sleep. I left the room. He grizzled for a minute or two then was silent. I peeked in to see him busily playing with and sucking his hands. Normally he would be crying by now and I would be in there picking him up. A few minutes later I peeked again- to find him fast asleep, arms stretched above his head, the picture of contentment. I could not contain my joy and amazement. 

This morning I stood looking at my settled baby, again peacefully snoozing on his own. I marvelled that he had slept for a three hour stretch last night. I felt proud of him. I felt overwhelming love. 

We have still had a few times today that have been difficult. I am sure there are more difficult times to come. He is still learning to settle. But he has come so far already. I can see now that if we persist we will get there and we will all enjoy more sleep. 

I am starting to swim now. My head is above the water and I am making for the shore with strong, clean strokes. I was treading water, now I'm starting to swim. 

Beautifully Busy

 Well, I started writing the following on the 23rd of July and am only just now getting back to it...which sums up how busy it is having a newborn!


I turned 29 yesterday. One more year as a 'twenty-something'. It was a lovely day spent with Rob and our little Liam, who is now 6 weeks old (the other children are with their mother). I told Liam that all I wanted for my birthday was a sleep-in. He interpreted that to mean 6am instead of 5am- but hey, I can't complain, as Rob took him out to the lounge room after I fed him and I stayed in bed for a few more hours, which was heavenly. 

I was very spoilt by my lovely man...I am now the proud owner of an iPhone, for one thing. For the past few years I have been saying "I don't need a fancy-pants touch screen phone! I'm happy with my little Nokia which has actual buttons!" Then a few weeks ago Rob got an iPhone and I became immediately jealous of all the games and apps. I suspect the real reason Rob bought me one was because he got tired of me saying "Can I have your phone so I can play Words with Friends?" 

We had a lovely lunch at the Cataract Bistro, though times have certainly changed...while I ate my lunch I was holding a child instead of a glass of wine and trying to juggle breastfeeding with eating gourmet pizza!

Back to today...things are good though full-on. Liam is currently going through his 8 week growth spurt and is therefore waking every two hours through the night for a feed, which is draining to say the least...I think I was lulled into a false sense of security by a few four, five and even six-hour stretches of sleep! Seeing this face makes it all worthwhile, however.

I have lots more to say but my little man is calling me, and I want to hit 'publish' before I leave this post for another few weeks! 

I didn't realise

I didn't realise that one tiny person could create so much extra washing.

I didn't realise that I would come to view 3 hours in a row at night  and 6 hours all up as a 'great sleep'.

I didn't realise that I would learn to do so many things one-handed while holding a baby...eating dinner, brushing another child's hair, sorting washing...being a mother is the true definition of multi-tasking.

 

I didn't realise that I could love someone so very much.

I didn't realise how amazing my body was to grow this little person, push him out and now nourish him every day.

I didn't realise that seeing my baby boy smile at me would make my heart fill full to bursting with joy and bring tears to my eyes.

I knew being a mother would be amazing and exciting and tiring and difficult, but it's so much more than I expected. It's the most wonderful thing I have ever done and nothing has ever felt so right.

I promise I will write some longer posts when I have more time...having a newborn certainly does fill the day.

The Birth of Liam

I had a wonderful doula, Cherie, to support me throughout my pregnancy and birth. A few weeks ago I wrote my birth story for her website and have decided to post it here also. It's quite long but I wanted to get down all the details of the most amazing day of my life.

My Birth Story

 (originally posted here)

I first heard about doulas three years ago and knew that I wanted to have one when it came time for me to have a baby. Soon after my partner Rob and I found out that we were expecting, we started researching doulas and organised a meeting with Cherie. The minute she left we agreed that we didn’t need to meet with anyone else as we had found our doula. We both found her to be warm, supportive and informative and were thrilled.

My partner is visually impaired and we knew that having Cherie at the birth would not only provide support for me but for him as well as he would be kept informed of everything that was happening. Cherie also let us know that she would be happy to drive us to hospital when the time came, which was a load off as I had had visions of having contractions in a taxi!

Throughout the pregnancy, Cherie came to our home several times to discuss the birth and provide information and support. These meetings were invaluable to set my mind at ease regarding any concerns I had, and Rob and I both felt so comfortable with Cherie that we were able to tell her anything and feel like we were talking with a trusted friend.

The week leading up to the birth was fairly difficult. My due date had come and gone and I was uncomfortable, sore and sleep deprived. We had an appointment on the Monday for a stretch and sweep and learnt that I was already three centimetres dilated. However, my blood pressure was also high and an induction was booked for the coming Sunday, when I would be ten days overdue. This frightened me as I had always been very clear that I did not want to be induced. I felt it went against everything I had been learning in my prenatal yoga classes and would not give me the calm birth I wanted. The next few days were somewhat stressful as Sunday started to loom closer. Cherie was a rock during this time, offering support and encouragement over the phone and by text, and it was wonderful having her to talk to. Rob was also amazing at putting up with my mood swings!

My waters finally broke at 12.45am on Friday morning and Cherie arrived to take us the hospital for a check up at 8am. Imagine my dismay when the doctors were not convinced that my waters had actually broken! The doctor also seemed of the opinion that the scheduled induction was a certainty, which was not helpful. Cherie was quick to allay my worries and with the help of her and Rob, I focused on the positives and the fact that it was my body and that I knew that my waters had broken and that labour could not be far off. We returned home to get some rest with Cherie checking up on me throughout the day.

Saturday morning I awoke at 4.30am feeling strange. Moments later I had my first contraction. I walked around the lounge room until 5am, breathing through a few more contractions, before waking Rob at 5am and telling him I needed him. We sat together in the lounge room for half an hour as Rob slowly woke up fully, with the contractions now 5 minutes apart and growing stronger. As they increased in strength I found I needed to be upright and leaning forwards and found myself kneeling and leaning over the arm of the couch. A shower helped relax me but it was difficult having contractions in the shower with nothing to lean on or hold onto so I returned to my place on the couch, rocking and circling my hips with each surge. I also began to get sick after each contraction. In between looking after me, Rob contacted the hospital at 6am and Cherie at 6.16am to let her know what was happening. Over the next hour the contractions increased in strength and duration until by 7.30am they were two minutes apart and about 30 seconds to a minute long. I was starting to find it harder to cope and Rob rang Cherie to let her know that I would like her to come over now. When Cherie arrived at 8am she brought with her a sense of calm and I felt new energy. She sat with me and timed several contractions, and gave me a cloth with some essential oils to help with the nausea. From the time Rob had woken up I had realised that I didn’t want anyone asking me any questions during contractions, which he also realised quickly from my first ‘Shush!’ As I laboured on the couch, one of my cats jumped onto the chair directly in front of my face and meowed at me in an undeniably questioning way, right in the middle of a contraction. I have to say I reacted by pushing her off the chair with a hand to her face! 

Just after 8.30 I felt that it was time to go to the hospital. It was four hours since I had woken up. The contractions were getting even stronger and the pain was starting to move down my back and legs, and there didn’t seem to be much ‘recovery’ time between them. I let Cherie know that I was ready and she and Rob started getting the bags organised. I nearly made it to the front door before being hit by another big contraction, which had me leaning forwards over my desk. Cherie started rubbing my back with firm, calm strokes which felt wonderful and definitely helped ease the pain. We made it to the car and I got into the back seat while Rob and his Seeing Eye Dog, Jasper, sat in the front with Cherie. The car trip was one of the most difficult parts of labour as I was hit by several contractions, which were agony when sitting upright. Cherie advised me to sit on the floor behind her seat and lean over the backseat, which made the journey bearable. 

We made it to the hospital and after another contraction next to the car with Rob holding me up, we headed inside. I knew I didn’t have long before the next surge and so moved as quickly as I could towards the labour ward, at one point almost leaving Rob, Jasper and Cherie behind. I made it to the doors and Rob rang the bell and let them know we had arrived, just as I was hit by another surge that had me leaning over some chairs in the corridor. The midwife who had been assigned to us, Mel, came out to take us through to a delivery suite. I felt relief when we entered the room as I knew I could focus now and not worry about going anywhere else. Mel wanted to hook me up to the monitor to check on the baby, so while she did that Cherie calmly moved about the room dimming the lights, putting on instrumental music and putting some new essential oils on a cloth for me. Mel left us to it for a while and Cherie and Rob helped me get my nightie out and put it on, which made me feel a lot better. I knelt up on the bed leaning forwards over the bed head, and when Mel returned I asked for some gas and air. This definitely took the edge off the contractions somewhat, though they were still difficult. Rob asked if I wanted my sister Lisa to come to the hospital and I replied with a definite yes, so he called her to let her know we needed her. 

By 9.45am the contractions were growing even stronger and I was in a lot of pain, though still fairly silent. Cherie was wonderful at getting me to focus on the music and the sound of the gas and air as opposed to focusing on the pain. She also suggested a heat pack which Rob held on my back as I knelt next to the bed leaning forwards. Mel knelt down next to me and said that she didn’t want to worry me but the baby’s heart rate was going up and down a bit, probably as I was dehydrated from being sick all morning. She said they wanted to give me some fluids but could try getting me to drink some cordial first. By 10.15am my sister arrived. She came into the room as I was breathing through a contraction, so it took me some time to acknowledge that she had arrived. I felt so surrounded by support from Rob, Lisa and Cherie and it was such a calm atmosphere in the room despite the pain I was in. 

The decision was made to put a line in to give me some fluids, so Dr Kate arrived to do so. Sitting still during this process, during which several contractions occurred, was not easy. Once the line was in I resumed my position kneeling over the head of the bed, with Rob sitting next to me and Lisa and Cherie taking turns to rub my back. I felt so focused on the contractions that I wasn’t always fully aware of what was happening around me, only that everyone was supporting me. I remember opening my eyes to see Rob sitting next to me and saying “Hi baby” as he had been hanging back while the doctor worked on putting the line in so I didn’t feel overcrowded. Lisa left the room twice to keep my parents informed over the phone as to what was happening. They were waiting on Maatsuyker Island to hear any news and were very tense.

At 10.50am things felt different. I felt an immense amount of pressure and the urge to push. I groaned that I wanted to push and Mel told me that I needed to wait a little longer and breathe through a few more contractions. This was not easy as the urge was growing stronger and stronger, but my team kept encouraging me to just breathe. Apparently at this point, Jasper became anxious over the noises I was making and tried to come forwards from his place in the corner. It took some reassuring words from Rob to get him to settle down again. 

Finally, at 11.30am, I was told that I could start pushing, which I immediately did so with the next contraction. Another midwife, Janet, was brought in to assist with catching the baby and I realised that the end was indeed in sight. I continued kneeling up over the bed while I pushed, resting my body forwards onto the pillows between pushes. My legs were starting to feel very shaky, weak and tired. I could hear the voices of the midwives, Cherie, Rob and Lisa encouraging me which gave me something to focus on. Cherie left the room to call my mum and tell her that I had started pushing and that the next call would be to tell them that the baby had arrived, which made Mum very excited and emotional. At 11.50 I was asked to turn onto my back for an internal examination. I immediately felt more comfortable and it gave my legs a rest, though I expressed concern as I had wanted to give birth in an upright position as I had learnt in yoga. Everyone reassured me that whatever felt the most comfortable was the right way, and Mel confirmed that I was pushing better now that I was propped up on my back. The internal confirmed that all was well and Mel told us she could feel the baby’s head. I continued to push, focusing on the voices of my team, holding Rob’s hand and feeling the support all around me. Rob stayed by my side, feeling through my hand and the tension in my body as I pushed and telling me how well I was doing, especially after the big pushes. Lisa praised me for not wasting energy by making noise and at 12.05 the baby’s head crowned. I reached down to touch him and felt overwhelmed that I had nearly done it. Rob also felt the baby’s head and found it a wonderful experience. As I prepared to push again, Cherie calmly told me that the next part would be painful but that I could do it. She was right; it was an intense and different kind of pain as I pushed as hard as I could and felt my baby’s head and body slide out of me in one contraction. I was overwhelmed that he was here and so quickly, and kept repeating “Is he here? He’s here!” as my beautiful boy, Liam Craig, was brought up onto my chest for skin-to-skin contact. With his arrival came a whole new chapter in our story. 

I am so glad that I had such a supportive environment during my labour and delivery. My sister was a wonderful support and it was a comfort to have her there, my lovely Rob was a tower of strength from start to finish and I will definitely be asking Cherie to be our doula again next time as she brought such serenity, knowledge and encouragement to the birth. She knew what I needed without me having to ask and usually before I knew I needed it myself. Rob also appreciated her coffee-making skills! With her help I had the calm, empowered birth I had wanted all along and it was a day I will never forget.

Liam is now three weeks old and I am so happy that he is finally here. We are still resting at home together and I am loving being a mum. My world has changed, but definitely for the better.
 

Welcome to the World

Welcome to the world....

 

Liam Craig

Born on the 8th of June 2013 at 12.12pm after an 8 hour labour, weighing 8 pounds 8 (3.8 kilos) and 55cm long.

I am thrilled to bits with my little one. We spent four nights in hospital and are now settling in at home. Life is a blur of feeding, changing and cuddles and very little sleep but I have never felt more like 'me' in my life. 

I will post more on his arrival soon when I have had a bit more time to recover.