Category Archives: Wife

I just want to know that I am not alone. Bendy Hair Follicles?

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Fess up.  Who has them?  Who even knows what I’m talking about?

 

Bendy Hair Follicles or BHF as I call them around here.  When your stupid hair grows out one way, and then gets forced into another direction and then it hurts like a mofo.  Yeah, you know what I’m talking about!  Don’t you?

I want to know that BHF is a real thing, and it is not just me.  My husband gives me a look like he thinks I am bat shit crazy whenever I mention it.  But he just doesn’t KNOW.  He has no hair.

I’ll tell you a little secret about hair. Hair is stubborn and hair doesn’t like being told what to do or where to go.

 

These are the people that are likely to be inflicted by this nasty reality:

  1. Curly haired bitches.  I think these girls have it the worst.  Their crap curly hair grows out of their head in all different directions and they generally have very strong evil follicles that resist hairbrushes best efforts to put them back into place.  What happens is this – unless the bitch in question lets her wild tresses go nuts, she has to put it up in some fashion.  There is a 100% chance that whatever hairstyle is chosen, there will be follicles bent the wrong way.  If the poor bitch has kids, especially babies who like to grab hair, wild and woolly hair is just not an option, therefore, she MUST tie it back and subsequently subject herself to the pain of the bendy follicle.
  2. Ballerinas.  These girls wear their hair in buns – right up on top of their heads.  Really tight buns – smothered in hairspray so the hair has no chance of escaping the anti-gravity hold.  This is all well and good while dancing on stage.  The girl looks as cute as a button, but she has no idea what is about to happen.  After her performance and the audience has all gone home, she has to take her hair out.  There is no avoiding it.  Once the 1000 bobby pins come out, her follicles are going to scream as they are allowed to fall back to their natural position.  Agony.
  3. Hippies.  Sometimes, you can get BHF is other places too.  Like your legs if your all hippie like or just don’t shave much.  This usually happens when you wear leggings or stockings.  Pregnant women wear leggings a lot and they also don’t get to shave much because they just can’t.  When you pull your leggings on, your spindly leg hairs are pulled upwards and trapped there.  That is of course until you take your leggings off later.  And then BAM – Bendy Leg Hair Follicles.
  4. Ferals.  Bendy Hair Follicles get worse as your hair gets dirtier.  If for some reason you don’t get to wash your hair very much, like you are homeless or have babies, there is a good chance that your follicles are getting bendier and bendier.  Especially as you keep on pulling your hair back everyday to avoid little hands getting up into your knots and pulling on them.  Also, as your hair gets more gross, you tend to resort to the old bun or shove it under a hat to hide the fact that you haven’t brushed your hair or showered in a month.  Not good options for the BHF sufferer. It’s just a vicious circle.  Sadly, the only way to cure BHF is to wash your hair.  Easier said than done.

 

I am horrified to say that I fall under all of these categories (well, except ballerina.  I haven’t done ballet for a long time, but I REMEMBER!).  And my hair gets curlier and bendier after each baby!  Forgot to mention – going to bed with wet hair is also a big no-no for the person with BHF as your head on a pillow is bound to push your wet follicles into unnatural positions and dry there.  Problem is, I generally shower at night after babies are asleep, but I don’t want to wash my hair then or it would be worse in the morning!  (not to mention that curly haired bitches SHOULD NEVER go to bed with wet hair or they wake with the afro from hell)  Sometimes my head hurts so bad that I pounce on D as soon as he gets out of bed in the morning and beg him to take the babies so I can wash my goddammotherfuckingbendyhairfollicles before I chop my head off, stomp on it and throw it in a fire.

I looked and looked for a curly haired bitch photo of myself but there just aren't any because I ALAWYS pull it back - thus making my BHF worse!

I looked and looked for a curly haired bitch photo of myself but there just aren’t any because I ALWAYS pull it back – thus making my BHF worse!

Is this normal?

Do YOU have BHF?

Put your face on and do your hair. We’ve been shot and Tameka can shoot you too!

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This is a really triumphant moment for me.  I have been successful in convincing D to participate in a family photo shoot.  You know he is not a big lover of the camera and will always do his best to sabotage photos with a goofy face.  Every.  Single.  Time.

 

The gorgeous and talented Tameka from Tree Pretty Photography has taken our photos before.  Last year she did a photo shoot with what I thought were going to be all my children.  D got out of that one.  You can see last years shoot here.  Little did I know that I was soon to discover we were expecting one more!  Now we really do have all of our children, our family is as big as it is going to get, so it is of ever increasing importance to me to secure that illusive family photo.  A photo with us all in it.  A photo where we all look normal and like we love each other.  A photo that we could even put on our wall and not cringe every time we walk past it.

Tameka is running a freakingly good value promotion on the 16th November, which is in 2 weeks!  She is offering mini photo shoots on the beach.  You get a half hour time slot with 5 different ‘poses’ and the high resolution, edited photos in both black and white and colour will be emailed to you to do with as you please!

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Now, there are a few great things about this opportunity.

  1. If you have a crabby photophobic husband like mine, he will be far more likely to participate in something that will be over very quickly.  You can give him a massive guilt trip until he says yes.
    Me:  What, our family is not important enough for you to give up half an hour of your day?
  2. Couldn’t be more easy for the goofy non-model people.  Walk in, walk out.  She has heaps of ideas ready to go.  Tameka has ‘The Eye’ and knows what will look good and work for your family.  She will tell you what to do and you just need to bring the smiles and have fun.  Practice your photo face in the car on the way to the beach.
  3. Sunny or overcast, the setting could not be more beautiful.
  4. Do I really have to point out how unbelievably cheap the deal is?  $50!  That is super good.  I was pulled in to take those portrait photos in the shopping centre recently.  They were asking $80 for ONE PHOTO!  And that is it, no digital file, nothing else.  Crazy.  (I remained strong though – ‘I’ll just take my free one please’) $50 and you can print, share and reprint as many times as you like.

 

I went into the shoot with a mental note of what shoots I wanted to get – the family, the kids, the boys, the babies, me and D, and little Crazy Hazey. That is 6 shots instead of 5, but I am super dooper lucky because I am good friends with Tameka’s sister, so I think she was extra generous with me.

We started off at the beach.  Unfortunately, the weather was very unkind to us.  It was as hot as Hades and blowing and absolute gale.  Hair blowing everywhere, sand all up in our eyes, babies crying.  We got a few shots in but decided to do a re-shoot in the park on a less windy day.  But don’t worry, weather looks good for 2 weeks time.  I checked.

Here are some photos from both locations.  I think you will agree that they both make a spectacular backdrop.  I personally love the green woodland type background more than the beach!  But don’t worry, if you like the trees better too, I am pretty sure Tameka is planning another event like this in a park soon.  How lucky am I?  I kind of got a 2 for 1 deal!  Now let’s see if I got the 6 shots I wanted…

 

The Family.

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The Kids.

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The Boys.

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The babies.

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Me and D.

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Crazy Hazey.

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Some extras.

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So there you have it.  Beautiful photos once again.  Thank you very much Tameka!  Please, if you are on the Gold Coast or planning to visit on the 16th and have half an hour up your sleeve to create some lasting memories, or just looking for a great photographer, do yourself a favour and call Tameka from Tree Pretty Photography.  You won’t be sorry!

Which ones do you like?

Operation Find My Hot Bod – A Food Update.

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I wanted to write this post last night, but my husband insisted that I go to bed early.  He wouldn’t even let me take my phone with me, in case I sneaky stayed up on Facebook and Pinterest.  He says I get super moody when I’m tired and don’t get enough sleep and he is right.  I’m like a super grump, and probably a total bitch to live with.  D is a rock star though, because I got plenty of shut eye and feel a million times better today.  Thanks D, I love you.

I want to update on how much weight I HAVEN’T lost and how ‘Operation Find My Hot Bod’ is going.  I was hoping it would be going better, but I guess at my age I need to be happy to loose it real slow.

 

So, two things I was looking at changing.  One – eating less crap, more good stuff.  Two – Exercise.  30 day Shred and the Couch 2 5k.

 

Let’s look at food today.  I began doing really well and was entering everything I ate into My Fitness Plan and counting all my calories.  I was trying to eat good stuff and avoid the naughty stuff.  Then we ran out of food in the house and I had some cinnamon toast (with a heap of sugar).

That’s it.  That’s the end of the story.  I now have a problem with cinnamon toast.  The problem is, it is too damn good!  And the problem is, I can’t stop eating it.  And the problem is, it’s a slippery slope.  It starts with just a slice, then two, then some chocolate and soda and before you know it you have spiralled out of control and are chasing a full habit of peanut butter and nutella.  Straight from the jar!

So I have fallen off the healthy eating wagon a bit.  Already.  But this post will hopefully serve a purpose, and that is to publicly shame myself into a cinnamon toast detox.  I really struggle with food.  I like it too much and have trouble maintaining healthy eating long term, especially when there is so much baaaaad stuff in the house.  And especially since it is so much easier and faster to grab a mint slice, than to make a salad sandwich.  I’m time poor.  My minutes where a toddler isn’t clinging to my leg are few.  I used the last of the vegetables in dinner the other night and still haven’t gone shopping to replenish the fridge.  We do have KitKats though.

It is also self destructive when I have lunch at my bff’s house and she sends my home with this:

Nigella Lawson chocolate cake with icing on the top AND in the middle!

Nigella Lawson chocolate cake with icing on the top AND in the middle!

And instead of saying, ‘no thanks, I am trying to make healthier choices.’  I say, ‘yes please!’  And then think how I can eat it all before D and the boys get home.

I didn’t, by the way.  Well, not ALL of it.

 

That is pretty much where I am at with food.  I need a proper kick up the backside!  Some days I eat moderately well and others, I would rather not say.  What I can say is this – I can, and I WILL do better.

Today I narrowly avoided divorce. Husband takes down and reassembles cot.

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K and J are, as you know, 12 and 13.  Teenagers.  I have one word to say about that – Puberty.  And raging hormones.  And hair in weird places.  All that surging testosterone zinging all over the place can make current living arrangements unpleasant at time.  12 and 13 year olds sharing a room is tough.

It was always our intention to give the medium doodles their own room.  Teenage boys need privacy.  They need their own special happy zone to fantasise about Taylor Swift or whoever teenage boys are  masturbating over these days.  We just needed them to continue sharing until the babies were on a solid sleep all night schedule, and then we could move them in together and separate the boys.  I was thinking probably in the Christmas holidays.

Things unexpectedly came to a head recently.  Doodles had gone to bed.  I sat down at my computer for the first time all day to troll through Facebook and Pinterest – Mummy Porn, when K resurfaced saying he couldn’t sleep because J was masturbating.  Very disturbing.  In all honestly, he was ‘just pretending’ to annoy K (it worked), but he probably had a little happy time enjoyment (can’t believe I am saying this and it gives me the heebeejeebees just thinking about it) at the same time.

 

Crisis talks.

Me:  OMG K said J is pulling the pud!  WTF am I supposed to do with that information?

D: (Laughs at me) (jerk)

Me:  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

D:  Time to give them their own rooms I think.

Me:  (Panicking)  Boys need Privacy yes, I get it, but I’m not ready!  How will this impact MY SLEEP?  I fear change! (hyperventilate)

 

This all happened a few weeks ago and I have done nothing but think about the whole room switch around ever since.  T will move into H’s room and J will move into T’s.  Sounds simple enough right?  Wrong.

What happens to SLEEP?  Will the babies start to wake each other up at night?  Will this kick start the mother of all sleep regressions?  Will they stay up gossiping about boobs and Elmo into the wee hours of the morning?  And more importantly what am I going to do about redecorating the room?

You want me to share my room?  As long as you don't want me to share my blankie.

You want me to share my room? As long as you don’t want me to share my blankie.

 

So it is now the September holidays.  It is time for ‘Operation move Theo into Hazel’s Room’.  We thought we would move T first and give it a week to see how it goes.  If all goes well we’ll separate the boys then.  If it is a complete disaster and T and H party all night and I become the walking dead, then T goes back and we re-evaluate in a few months.

I’ve been talking to T about the big move for a few days.  I always ask him if he understands and he say ‘eees’.  Today I thought, no more talking.  Let’s just do this thing.  Now here comes the divorce part.

 

D is on holidays right, so I find him laying on the couch watching Ready Steady Cook.

Me:  Hun, can you please come and help me move the T’s cot into H’s room quickly before Judge Judy?

D:  What, you mean now?

Me:  Well, yes.  H needs a nap soon so now would be the time.

 

We start to carry cot out of the room.  I get my end through the door.  Other end gets stuck.  We try again.  Stuck.  Damn.

 

D:  It’s going to have to be pulled apart. (audible sigh)

Me:  Ahhh crap.  (sensing D’s frustration levels rising)  You go watch Judge Judy (best wife award) and I’ll do it.

D:  No I’LL do it.  (best husband award)

 

A very clumsy disassemble of the cot happens.  T is getting very excited.  He wants to help which is adorable but more of a hindrance.  We get all the pieces down into H’s room.  T comes too, as does H.  I have put this cot up and taken it down several times on my own so I know how it goes and I know it is easier with 2 people.  I offer to help.  D is grumpy (missing Judge Judy) and tells me the best way I can help is to take the babies away and he will do it on his own.  I comply.  Cue much banging and swearing from bedroom.  He is gone for a while, but I can hear him muttering under his breath and slamming stuff around on the baby monitor and I can feel his exasperation as he can’t get the stupidfuckinggoddamn screws in.  I take the babies outside and try to make them as quiet and angelic as possible.  Finally he is done and he comes back and gives me that look.  You know the one.  The ‘I’m going to kill you dead’ look.  He resumes couch position.  I tell him how wonderful and awesome he is and love on him.  T giggles and hugs him and H rolls over.  Marriage is saved.  Judge Judy is over.

 

Now that is all done, I get T to help me bring some of his favourite things into the new room and tell him he is going to sleep in H’s room now.  He is super excited and wants to get in and out of his cot.  In and out.  In and out.  Things are looking good.

Heading towards bedtime I begin to panic, but I needn’t have.  T went to bed quite happily.  He talked to himself and his bears for about 10 mins and then went to sleep.  I finished nursing H and then took her in.  T stayed asleep.  H was sleepy and murmured to herself for a few minutes and then she went to sleep too.  T didn’t wake up! No one cried, no one screamed, no one danced around in their cot like a crazy baby.

So far so good.  It’s been 3 hours and they haven’t woken each other up yet.  Fingers crossed for me please!  Tomorrow may be fun.  Not sure how we will go with the middle of the day nap.  That could be tricky.  Please if you have any advice or words of wisdom about babies sharing rooms please impart!

I will start taking nursery redecorating pictures soon and post when it is done.

Wait.

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Finally the ‘sick’ has left our house, after infecting each one of us in turn.  At the moment we are all relatively healthy and I cling onto every strand of hope that we stay that way.  Having one sick baby is hard enough.  Two sick babies is no joke.  Throw in the mix two sick medium doodles and a husband with a serious case of man flu, while feeling like death yourself, and you’ve got a whole crap sandwich with a side order of barf.

I’d been waiting for the sick to pass so I could catch up on my lost sleep before getting reacquainted with my blog.  An now Blog, and my friends, I am feeling refreshed and you will have to wait no more.

 

The word wait is a fairly common word.  It is used in many contexts.  Wait for me.  Wait for the bus.  Wait at the traffic lights.  Wait for the kettle to boil.  But I have found that lately, especially in recent months, I have used it in excess.

 

Wait! Come back here with that toilet paper!

No T, wait until Mummy is finished on the toilet before flushing it for me.

Yeah and ideally, it’s best to wait until I have stood up before trying to close the lid.  Yep, if it didn’t close the first 10 times you tried, what makes you think it is going to close the next 384 times?  Mum’s body is still in the way, but good on you for being persistent.

T wait!  Don’t unlock the toilet door yet, Mummy isn’t finished!

Wait!  I haven’t put your nappy on yet!  OK, fine be naked for all I care.  (sigh of exasperation)

H, why do you wait until I take you nappy off to wee on your change table?  Go on have a giggle.  Lucky you are so cute.

And now, H, why do you wait until I put a fresh nappy on to poo in it?

Yes H, I can hear you but you have to wait until I finish with T.

Yes T, I can hear you but you have to wait until I finish with H.

Oh my gawd, can you wait until I’m ready to catch you before you launch yourself off the couch onto me?

Sweetheart, I know you are hungry but I can’t feed you and drive at the same time you just have to wait.

Can you wait 5  minutes before your next tantrum?  I need to recuperate.

Minecraft can just wait until you have cleaned that pigsty you call your room (yes, I have become my mother).  And while you’re at it, do your homework!

Look K, you can be a big boy and make your own sandwich, or you can just wait until I am finished nursing H.  Yes I know that I make the best sandwiches, but come on Dude, seriously it’s just two bits of bread with stuff inside.  How are you ever going to be a good a sandwich maker if you never practice.  To quote Adventure Time, ‘sucking at something is the first step toward being sort of good at something.’

Dishes can wait.

Vacuuming can wait.

Sometimes showering has to wait.  Cleanliness isn’t all that important is it?

Sorry D, you have to wait until I hang the nappies out for snoo snoo.

 

Just wait, wait, wait, wait wait.

I am only ONE PERSON!

 

I am trying my darndest to be a patient person and for the most part I think I do pretty well.  I do loose my cool from time to time and then beat myself up for it but I have come to realise that I am doing the best I can and that is good enough.  I love my all my doodles and my corn chip to the moon and back and wouldn’t have life any other way.

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I have 2 babies and I haven’t gone crazy (yet).

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Doing a poo is harder work.

Dudes, I am no longer pregnant, so why the hell do I still have hard as concrete poos?  Could it be all of the SHIT I eat?  Yeah probably, but seriously, I HAVE 2 BABIES when am I supposed to find time to feed myself properly?  I have a hard enough time making sure I feed my toddler.  Surely coffee and chocolate constitutes a balanced meal?

Poo rant over.  What is a post from me without the mention of poo anyway.

 

I have a 17 month old and a 7 week old.  That is a whole lot of baby to look after.

I have to say it has been better than I thought it was going to be.  A lot of the things I was worried about have not come to pass.  H is a super chilled, super star, super fantastic baby.  She is totally my best one yet!  And yes, I realise that I am really really REALLY freaking lucky to have such an angel.  Things could be a whole lot worse.  I believe she is my pay off for having survived a house full of doodles for so long.

Right now, both of my babies are having a nap AT THE SAME TIME.  Not quite sure how I managed that, but rather than catch up on a few zzzs I feel compelled to catch up with my blog.  So here I am.

Baby #1 sleeping

Baby #1 sleeping

Baby #2 sleeping

Baby #2 sleeping

 

D went back to work last week, so I have been on my own with the babies for nearly 2 weeks.  At first I was a tad nervous about how it was going to go down.  T had been going through a bit of a stormy (I’m going to stab myself in the eye if you whine/have a tantrum/scratch at my face/throw your food again) phase and I wasn’t sure I’d be patient enough to handle him with grace while also having to look after a helpless and needy little baby.  How was I going to be able to divide my time between the two of them and keep them both happy (and clean and fed and alive)?

While D was home he took on the lions share of T duties for me so I could focus my time on H and recovering.  So he got up with T in the morning and did breakfast, drove the big boys too and from school, took T out with him here and there and for rides on the bike which gave me a lot of time to rest and generally have my boobs out round the clock for hungry H.  However, while it was wonderful having D home, and I really don’t know how I would have coped without him in the early days, I was kind of looking forward to some quiet time so T, H and I could find our groove and I could work on putting some ‘systems’ into place to make my days run smoothly.

It’s been good.  Actually, it has been great.  T has calmed right down and his sunny side has shone through.  My wonder weeks app told me that he has just gone through a major developmental leap and now he is a baby genius.  And H?  Well, she is just sweet and chilled.

 

This is how I manage (my 2 baby systems):

  1. Try and get out or do something each morning.  I do not know how mums who do not drive get through each and every day.  I get the worst cabin fever if I am stuck at home for too long and I am sure T feels the same way.  Our days always run much smoother if we get out and about.  I go to a playgroup once a week, set up playdates with friends and their babies, find something that I MUST BUY whether it be nappies or rubber bands or fly spray or tictacs and use that as an excuse to pack the babies up and go to the shops.  I order a hot chocolate and take it into the parents rooms where T can play in the play area and I can nurse H.  Quite often I can have a chat with other mums doing the same thing as me.  And maybe, just maybe T will be happy enough in his pram to let me cruise the shops for a bargain or two.I always make sure T has his morning tea while we are out and then I wrap up the morning activity around 11ish to get home in time for his nap time.  Because seriously, dudes, nobody and nothing messes with nap time.  Mumma Bear fucking NEEDS this hour and a half every day to SURVIVE!
  2. If I cannot get out in the morning, I make sure we do something busy at home, like today, we cleaned up and vacuumed the house while H slept.  T loves to help vacuum so first we tidy up one area and I vacuum it.  Then I give him the vac (turn down the suction and shorten the nozzle so it is just like one of those kiddy toy vacs, but this one actually works!) to get to work while I go into the next room and tidy it.  Rinse and repeat until all the rooms are done!  A handy little system if I do say so myself, and as an added bonus the floor gets a double vacuum.  Child labour at best.  Gotta train ’em young.
  3. T loves to help with the washing.  I can always put a smile on his face with the simple words, ‘want to help me hang out/fold the washing?’
  4. Baby Einstein/Psy/Sesame Street Celebrity songs on YouTube.  When all else fails whack on a Baby Einstein episode and not only do you get a moment to breathe you can also make your baby smarter.  Or make them dance Gangnam Style.
  5. Number 5 is possibly the most important of all my systems and it involves the dreaded ‘sleep training‘ or as I like to call it ‘sanity’.  If you have followed my blog from the early days you will know that I am a big advocate of teaching your babies the skills they need to become independent sleepers.  I consider this to be one of the most important lessons we can teach them while they are young.

    I realise that my way might not be for everyone and you might be happy to co-sleep or rock/nurse to sleep – whatever works for you.  Peace, love and mung beans to all parenting and baby sleeping styles but for me, having nursed and rocked K to sleep until it turned around and bit me in the arse, I knew that I wanted to teach T good independent sleeping habits from the start.  It wasn’t easy, but I did start teaching him from about 5/6 weeks, and did so without letting him cry himself to sleep – so get off your soapboxes and put away your pitchforks if you are about to shoot me down.  I am not evil.
    With Princess H, I was mindful of the fact that I would not have the time to sit with her while I patted her bottom for 20 minutes so she could fall asleep.  God knows what damage Cyclone T could do left to his own devices for 20 minutes!  H’s winding down to sleep routine would have to be a quick one.  I could pat her bottom 20 times, but not for 20 minutes.  I needed to get to the point where I could say, ‘Right T, we need to put H to bed.  Say goodnight to H, kiss kiss.’ Put her to bed and walk out.  My friends, I can cautiously say that I think I’ve nailed it.  I know, I am the baby sleep champion!!!

    Realistically, I know that her awesome sleep skills are mainly to do with her laid back temperament, but I like to think that my sleep guru skills played a big part, or at least that is what I want all the domestic goddesses to think.  If I can’t be the ideal housewife and bake a cake with one hand and clean a toilet with the other, while giving my husband a blowjob and providing the children with wholesome craft activities, then I’d like to kick all those bloody perfect bitches butts in the sleep stakes.  So if you see me down in the local parents room sipping a chai latte, bragging about how fantastic I am – wink wink – just go along with it.

 

While I have said things have been good, do not mistake that for things have been easy.  It was never going to be easy.  It’s bloody hard work.  I have to be ON from the moment I get up until I go to bed, and even then, let’s face it I am always on.  Even in sleep I still have one ear listening out for babies crying.

I must read the same books 492648600274529057532 a day to T (while nursing H with one hand and turning pages with the other), and each time I have to read it with as much enthusiasm as the first time I read it.  Everything has to be a game and I am constantly watching T so he doesn’t poke H in the eye or pat her a little too vigorously.  He loves her so much but sometimes his idea of love can be a tad heavy handed.

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The hardest part of the day by far has been T’s dinner/bath times.  If D is home it is ok, but when he is out it can get pretty crazy as it seemed to be the only time of the day that both babies were really needing me at the same time.  I’d be getting T’s dinner ready one handed while holding H with T weaving between my legs on the floor.  Then feeding him one handed while nursing H or bouncing her with my foot in the bouncer.  Multitasking at its best.  I’d bath T while H watched on.  She would cry, then I’d be juggling holding her and drying and dressing T.  It was stressful.  Quite often I would have to call on K to come and be a parent with me.

But the last few nights we’ve turned a bit of a corner.  I have managed to get H to nap while T has his dinner and bath, she wakes up for a feed and then T goes to bed.  Following that, H has a bath and then a top up feed and she goes to bed!  I’m loving this!  Systems and routines are working for me.

 

I just hope now that I have put all off this goodness out there, the universe doesn’t turn around and bitch slap me up side the head and ruin things for me.  I hope I haven’t been lulled into a false sense of security and H is going to turn into crazy up-all-night-screamer.  Time will tell peeps, so watch this space for an update!

Mother’s Day and Minecraft.

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Yesterday was Mother’s Day and once I had gotten both babies to sleep I opted to try and catch a few extra zzzzs rather than write this post (it didn’t work by the way, I am eternally short on zzzzs).  So here is my big shout out to all the mummies, albeit a day late.  Mums rock.

 

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Pleasantries aside, let me tell you about my Mother’s Day.

It all started with a crying baby.  Nothing unusual there.  I dragged myself out of bed to nurse H.  She went back to sleep so I fell back into bed.  Cue T waking up.  Wonderful husband hops up to get T out of bed and leaves me to try and get some more of those elusive zzzzs.  So far so good, I like the way this Mother’s Day is starting.

H doesn’t sleep for too long before she is up and ready to start the day, but that is ok.  Both the big boys are on the computer playing Minecraft.  They say happy Mother’s Day to me without taking their eyes from the computer screen.  Again, nothing unusual there.  We have a couple of Minecraft addicts.  K especially.

Anywhoo, D is giving T his breakfast so I make a coffee and go to join them.  I get plenty of MD love and cuddles from D, and from T I get a vegemite smear on my pyjamas.  D disappears for a moment to I assume round up the boys to come and give me my gazillion presents but comes back alone and annoyed.

It seems that when tapped on the shoulder (he was wearing headphones), K slammed down the headphones, swung around all angry like with eyes glaring and says, ‘WHAT?!’  Then realising that he was going to get into some serious trouble followed it up with a hundred I’m sorrys and ran off to his room upset with himself for ruining Mother’s Day.

You see, In days gone by we have had many an issue with the boys regarding computer games.  They get all consumed by them and can’t think about anything but.  There have been plenty of games that we have banned and deleted when they got too wrapped up in them and were unable to function as normal human beings.  They cannot handle the frustrations when they die/can’t get to the next level/lose and get angry and flip out.

We originally liked Minecraft because you it wasn’t competitive, you couldn’t die, there is no nudity or swearing and no blood and guts.  You just walked around and built shit and planted trees and played with pigs.  But over time they have founds ways to make it a drama for our household.  Now they play Minecraft survival games on servers and watch Minecraft videos on YouTube and read forums.  We have again found ourselves dealing with banging mouses and kicking the back of the computer desks and little eyes that well up with tears of pre-pubescent angst.

Yesterday morning was like that, except K knows that we are on the verge of pulling the Minecraft pin and seriously his world would IMPLODE so he is trying to be super happy and calm to trick us into thinking that he is coping well.  However sometimes (like yesterday) he blows that cool facade which in turn makes Mumma Bear mad.

I found him upset in his room beating himself up for ruining my day, which of course he didn’t.  We had a  little heart to heart and have put a halt on playing on the servers and gave him a massive warning that he’s on his last Minecraft chance.  I left him to contemplate his actions and a little while later he emerges from his room with a letter…

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Fucking priceless.  I love that kid!

D and the boys then presented me with my present.  I am now the proud owner of an ALDI coffee machine and it, even though it is not a big ticket machine it makes a damn good cuppa.  Everyone I know that has one loves it and I was jealous of them.  I feel all posh and shit when I make my morning coffee now.

Aside from a coffee machine I told D what I really wanted for Mother’s Day was to have a family photo take with us ALL in it.  Grudgingly he agreed, so in the afternoon when all the mums in my family came over for an afternoon tea, I had my brother take a few photos of us in the back yard.  It wasn’t easy, but after a whole heap of photos with at least one of the boys pulling a stupid face we finally got a half decent photo of our family.

The best one.

The best one.

The worst one.

The worst one.

A nice one of me with my first born and my last born.

A nice one of me with my first born and my last born.

We had a lovely afternoon tea with my Mum, my mother-in-law, my brother and sister-in-law and their baby.  Of course it was loud and crazy and messy, but the best times often are and we wouldn’t have it any other way.  Well maybe it would be super unicorn awesome if cleaning fairies came but we all know that they do not exist.  The only cleaning fairies I know are mums.  Happy (late) Mother’s Day!

Hazel’s Birth Story. A perfect, planned caesarean. It matters not which hole your baby comes out of.

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I had known right from the day I discovered we were expecting again that the baby would be born via scheduled c-section.  Both K and T were emergency caesarean babies due to a ‘failure to progress’.  Man, I hate that saying because it sounds as if you have failed at your very first job as a mother – to birth your babies.  Let’s just say, my boys preferred to exit through the alternate route as they cared so deeply for their mother, that they wanted to ensure her vagina remained unscathed.  Thanks boys, my vagiburger is very much obliged indeed.  D thanks you too.

Caesarean births can be beautiful too, it’s all in your mindset.  You need to be focussed on your goal.  Whether you planned to fall pregnant or had a happy surprise, what were you looking forward to?  What did you dream of during your 9 months?  What did you foresee as the end result?   Was it to have a baby to love and nurture?  Were you looking forward to being a parent and raising a child to become an independent, responsible and caring young man or woman?  Or was your sole purpose in getting pregnant to have a vaginal birth – end of story?  Of course not, the birth is just a blip in time.  A means to an end.  If your goal was to mother a child, and love her and wrap yourself up in all of her glory for the rest of your life, then does it really matter through which hole she came?

 

T’s labour was a horrendous ordeal, I remember saying after he was born, if I was to ever EVER have another baby there would be none of that labour bullshit!  One attempt at a VBAC was enough for me and certainly enough for D.  Thank goodness my hospital took that same stance.  Fine by me.

 

I was all booked in for my section on Thursday 11th April.  I finally packed my hospital bag and put the car seat in the van the day before, so on Wednesday night all I had to do was wash my hair and read the admission information about a dozen times.  I laid out my clothes to wear, put my special surgical sponge in the shower for the morning, wrote a list of last minute things to pack and put it on top of my hospital bag.  I set my alarm for 5 and went to bed.

Woken by the alarm, I jump out of bed and immediately want a coffee more than I have ever wanted a coffee before in my life.  Goddammit, water is going to have to suffice.  I am not supposed to have anything to drink from 4am onwards, but I figure that there is no way the hospital is going to be on time so I have a glass anyway, and thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster I did, because it was the only thing that passed my lips for 20 hours.

I get ready, I kiss D and the boys goodbye and my dad takes me to the hospital where I check myself in to be admitted.  I am sent up to the maternity ward to wait for ‘someone’ to collect me.  They direct myself and another mum-to-be to sit in the corridor.  We have no idea who is coming for us so every time someone walks past, we look up in anticipation, only to be disappointed when they shuffle by without so much as a smile.  One nurse walks past and says, ‘Hope you ladies have brought your own beds!’  WTF?

Turns out to be a super busy night/day to be popping out babies with not a single bed left in the maternity ward OR the labour ward!  I was starting to worry that they were going to send me home to come back the next day.  Finally a super lovely and cheerful surgery nurse comes to collect us and takes us up to the ‘pre-maternity’ room where she gives us the run down on what is going to happen and reassures me that I WILL have my baby that day, as mums are being moved and beds are being cleared.  She tells me that I am second on the c-section list and to get D up by 9:30 ready to go at 10, but we could still be waiting for a while should an emergency bump me from the queue.  I’m given my super sexy gown to wear (no undies) and a comfy reclining armchair to wait in.

D arrive and sure enough 10:00 comes and goes.  Murphy’s Law prevails in that as soon as D goes downstairs to get a drink, friendly nurse comes back to get me around midday.  So we head off all the while calling D, who for some unknown  reason is not answering his phone!  I ring, I leave messages.  Where the F are you?  Get your ass down to the surgery ward!!!!!

I let the team know that my husband is MIA and if they see a slightly bald but super sexy man with a beard wandering around looking lost, send him my way.

 

Once inside the operating theatre, the anaesthetist gives me the low down on the spinal and we get that under way.  Freaky.  During the agony of labour, the administering of an epidural just ‘happens’ in a blur of pain and emotion, but in the calm and quiet of the theatre you get to overthink every. single. thing.  They are going to stick a fucking needle into my SPINE!  I watched my heart rate on the monitor going up and down with my mini freakouts.

Once the spinal was in and beginning to work I was laid down and it was the surgeons turn to talk with me.  They went over the details of the caesarean and the tubal ligation.  (Yes, I had my tubes tied.  We are done at four.)  They asked me once more if I was certain I wanted to go ahead with the tubal, to which I replied, ‘Yes, I’m sure, but if she comes out with a doodle, you better check with me again!’  Cue chuckles from the team.  But I was serious!

I am finally all numbed up and ready to go so they bring D (they found him) in to sit by my head.  This is when I really start freaking out.  I am really scared.  I’m scared of dying.  I’m scared something is still wrong with LSP.  I’m scared of the baby with eye protrusion I saw on YouTube.  I’m scared to see another doodle.  I’m scared they will cut my bladder or my bowel and spill my poo all over the table and inside my open uterus and LSP will ingest it and she will die or at least turn into a massive poo baby herself.  I’m scared that 4 children will make me crazy.  OK, I’m crazy already but I’m scared.  I’m just scared.

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D strokes my head and he calms me down.

 

I can feel the surgeons pushing, prodding and pulling but I can’t feel the pain.  I can literally feel them really pushing hard on the top of my tummy but nothing, nadda – no pain.  It’s very weird.  Then I feel lighter, emptier and they tell us to get ready.  We hear our baby let out a cry, the most amazing cry.  It was strong and loud.   They lower the sheet and lift this little, wailing, beautiful baby up for us to see.  She is divine.  She is also covered in blood, and D who just DOES NOT DO blood, guts, gore, needles, medical stuff, yelled out something along the line of, ‘Oh god, put it away!’ as he ducked for cover and averted his eyes.

D isn’t going to like this picture because it is a bit bloody but I think it is incredible.  My first look at our daughter.  I wish I could put it into one of those spoiler boxes so the squirmier peeps, like D, don’t have to see but I can’t so if you need to, close your eyes and scroll down.

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From here they whisked her over to the cart for her quick checks and a wipe over.  They offered D to cut the cord, to which he replied an emphatic, ‘Hell no!’.  Her APGAR scores were 9 and 9. She was almost a perfect 10 out of 10, but for her little purple hands.  A teeny tiny little nugget at 2910 grams (6lb 6oz) and 51 centimetres.  Born at 12:54pm.  She was only out of sight for a minute and then brought over to us for skin on skin.

They tucked her into my hospital gown right onto my chest and wrapped a nice warm blankie over us both.  This is where we could get a really good look at her and we both just sobbed and wept tears of joy to be holding our little princess (yes, it was a girl) and she really REALLY was perfect.  We cried words of love and adoration for each other and for her.  Her face was perfect, her eyes were perfect, her palate was perfect, her everything was perfect.  Our lives were perfect.  She was everything I had longed for and so much more.  My heart was swelled with pride and love for this little tiny girl.  My future shopping companion.

 

We have a daughter.

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She was such a little champion.  She began to make motions of sucking pretty much right away so we followed her lead and let her have her first breastfeed right there in the operating room while they stitched me up.

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Tubal and Caesarean complete, we all wheeled off together to the recovery room, where Hazel (this is where we had to stop calling her LSP), after a little snooze, has another feed and I finally get to have a drink.  Cool refreshing lemonade never tasted so good.

 

D and I, and the boys are completely in love with Hazel.  She is the apple of our eye.  All I can say is thank ‘whoever you thank in your universe’ that the pill, breastfeeding and lazy sperm failed us as contraception methods.  We are thankful.  We are happy.  We are complete.

Update on the cat training and a nursery sneak peak.

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To be perfectly honest, last night I was just really tired and went to bed early without my obligatory nightly post.  Soz (as J would say).  I had some pretty intense Darrel Braxtons (what I call Braxton Hicks contractions – if you love Home and Away, like me, you’ll get it), but they were irregular and usually just coincided with me having to get up to either go to the toilet or chase the cat with the water spray.

 

Cat training, by the way is not going to well.  First night or two I thought I was onto a winner, but since then he has ramped up the crazy tenfold.  Now he not only meows and scratches and whines at stupid o’clock down at our bedroom, but when he realises that it is going to get him nothing more than a water spray in the face, he goes and pulls the same tricks down the other end of the hall outside all the boys’ bedrooms.

This behaviour still has me getting out of bed 496 times a night and quite simply cannot go on.  Time is up.  Drastic measures from now on.  This morning he had me up and down constantly from 4am – 5:15am, by then I was so cranky that I kicked him.  I meant to kick his butt, however in the dark, I kicked him right in the face.  I felt awful but he let me get back to sleep for half an hour.  Don’t worry peeps, he got his own back.  While I was giving him an ‘I’m sorry for being a bitch cuddle’ earlier, he reached up and swiped me fair in the face too.  Payback.

He eventually got D up out of bed, who was also pretty angry with the cat.  Neither of us has had a decent night sleep for weeks.  As soon as we (mainly me) hear his little bell jingling, we think, here we go again…  And then game is on.  Perhaps he is reacting to the change which is about to happen at home, or perhaps he is just a naughty cat at night but last nights cat-scepades were the last straw.

 

Tonight, he gets locked in the garage.

 

He likes the garage, he goes in there all the time.  We have a storage room off the back which we will set up his bed and food in.  He’ll probably hate us for a while but this shit cannot go on.  I don’t see this as a permanent solution.  I’m hoping that he’ll calm down and we can trail run him back in the main part of the house in the future but for now this is what we must do.  Please don’t send me hate mail.  We love Chum-Lee, but we also need to sleep and he needs to learn that he is not the boss of our house.  Dinner time and breakfast time is set by us and not him.

 

Anyways…

LSP will be evicted tomorrow.

Here for you now is a sneak peak at her nursery.  The full reveal will happen after her birth.  Possibly from the hospital if she lets me have enough rest and I can manage posting from the iPad, but more likely when I get home.

Hmmmm, what is her name?

Hmmmm, what is her name?

I’ll try and post tonight but I cannot promise anything.  What I can tell you is that I have to get up early tomorrow morning and shower with a special hospital antiseptic sponge.  My Dad is going to drop me off at 6:30 and I’ll go and get myself admitted and settled in.  They begin the surgeries at 8 so Dave is just going to come up then.  His time is better served at home getting T up and feeding him breakfast before my mother-in-law comes to watch him.  And besides D doesn’t do hospitals well, so the last thing I need is to hear him bitching and moaning about how bored and creeped out he is.  I could even go back to sleep for a bit.  Can’t say for sure what time I will be going in for my surgery as emergencies get to cut in the surgery line so it’s kind of a play it by ear deal.

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My caesarean fears.

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I may seem all happy happy joy joy about having my third c-section, but I’m not.  I mean, I am still happy to be going elective this time and not bothering with trying again for a VBAC.  I realised after T’s birth that I am just not meant to give birth vaginally, and am hopeful that my elective this time is going to be a little easier to recover from than an emergency section after a long and brutal labour.  To read about it, see this post.

 

What I mean is that I have some fears.

 

Last week I signed my consent forms for the section and for getting my tubes tied while they are in there.  Yes, 4 is enough.  I had to read the very long list of risk factors involved in my surgery.  The first risk that stuck out to me was also the last risk that was listed.  ‘This surgery involves the risk of death’.  Great.  Highly unlikely, but there it is.  I really freak out about kicking the bucket and leaving my family behind.  K especially.  J would still have a mother and a father.  T and LSP would be little and I am sure they would adjust and be none the wiser, but K is so wrapped up in me, I really don’t think he would cope if he lost me.  His heart would die a thousand deaths and I truly don’t know if he would ever fully recover.

Dying terrifies me.  It terrifies me because it is final.  I don’t believe there is a whole ‘you get to look over the ones you love’ thing.  Once you die, you don’t get the opportunity to watch how their life pans out.  I would not get to see D get through loosing me and find happiness again.  What would LSP look like?  I wouldn’t see K, J and T meet their first girlfriends.   No graduations, no weddings, no grandchildren, no career achievements, no nothing.  I hyperventilate a little just thinking of this.  You know how you hear of people who are terminally ill, say that they have come to peace with dying and are ready to go?  I don’t think I could ever say that.  I would never be ready to go.  I could never be at peace with not being there to make sure everyone is alright.

That is my biggest and greatest fear right there, and yes, I realise there is only the tiniest of tiny chances that I will die so it is pretty irrational.  For the most part, I know everything is going to be fine.  I’ve already had 2 c-sections and they have both been fine.  There is nothing to suggest it is going to be anything but fine.  It is only in the deepest darkest spaces of my mind that I think about these things.

 

My most realistic fear, is more of a concern really and that is about my recovery.  My first section I was much younger and it really was pretty easy.  T’s section 12 years later was a completely different story.  Recovery was a bitch.  A bitch with a headache.  A bitch with a headache and PMS wrapped in a turd sandwich.  I was on the hardcore painkillers which made me a bit loopy, but I dared not not take them because the pain was ridiculous.

I am a pretty independent person, and I hate sitting around and asking for help with things.  I found that whenever I tried to do too much, I hurt more and bled more.  Going into my 3rd section, I know that I have to take the time to recover properly and that means I will have to ask for help to do simple shit which is going to drive me a little crazy.

I remember how much it hurt when little tiny T would push his legs into my incision.  Well this time I will have another little person doing that and a big toddler to watch out for.  I am scared he is going to catch me unaware one day and jump on/bounce on/headbutt/elbow/launch off on my tummy and do me some damage.  At his age I don’t think he can fully grasp the whole ‘Mummy’s tummy hurts and you have to be gentle’ thing.  Tell him to be gentle with Chum-Lee and the next thing he is pulling his tail and poking him in the eye.

 

We all know that I am no domestic goddess, but I worry about how bad shit is going to get around here when I have to rely on D to take care of things around the house.  Like, when I go into hospital, he is going to have to do everything!  I really don’t think he gets what I do to keep things running smoothly.  I think he thinks vacuuming is a one time deal.  Do it once and you’re good to go for another month or so!  I don’t think he realises that when I am home with T, I am busy doing house stuff constantly.  It actually helps keep T busy and occupied as we make it fun and he ‘helps’ me.  When D looks after T, that is all he does.  But this is not a bitch session about D.  He is an amazing father and does plenty to make my life better.  I just get rather frustrated when I am able to get out of the house alone and have a wee bit of me time and I walk back in to find T’s lunch mess still all over the high chair and floor and crap everywhere.  Sigh.

Oh god, is this what I will come home to?

Oh god, is this what I will come home to?  Could be worse I guess 🙂

 

I still worry a little tiny bit that there is something wrong with LSP.  Something that the lady doing to 20 week scan caught an inkling of, but the later scan did not show.  Even though the repeat scan came back with everything normal, what if they missed something?

 

What if emotionally I can’t handle 4 children?  This recent bout of depression or pregnancy hormones or whatever it was has me a little freaked out.  What if that gloom and doom comes back?  It wasn’t a happy time for me and giving birth to my last child and my only daughter should be a monotonously happy occasion, what if I fuck it up and waste it due to hormones and depression?  I will never forgive myself if I waste a moment of this special time feeling sorry for myself.

 

Am I being ridiculous?  Over thinking too much?  This is what happens when you leave a heavily pregnant woman at home with all the kids in bed alone with her blog.

Everything will be just fine.  I know it will, you know it will, and even if it isn’t, I’ll just deal with whatever comes my way.  That is after all what we mothers do isn’t it?