Tag Archives: Don’t Judge Me

The pictorial progress report. Still a long road ahead.

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I avoided stepping on the scales and measuring myself yesterday because I was a bit afraid of what I would see – big fat numbers.  But it has been a month since my original fat photos so I could not avoid the progress report any longer.

It is not AS BAD as I thought it was going to be.  I am relieved that I have not gained any more, but it is what it is.  It’s pretty much what I expected, given that I had overdosed on youknowwhat and youknowwhat – the two evils, both beginning with C.  I dare not even speak their names, for I fear once the words spill from my lips, I shan’t be able to stop myself from indulging once more.

 

It has been one month since I started this journey of finding myself again underneath this layer of wobble.  One month of trying to become a runner.  One month of dinky knees.  One month of feeling guilty for eating too much c_ _ _.  One month of highs and lows.  One month of learning what not to do.  The first month of many healthy months to come.  My gift to my family – a healthy mum and a healthy wife.

 

Now, don’t get excited.  What you are about to see looks almost exactly the same as what you saw a month ago.  A little disheartening, but oh well.  Baby steps, baby steps…

Now remember – the BEFORE pictures are on the RIGHT.  Look LEFT for the non-existent improvement.

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Notice the difference?  Yeah, me neither.

As with my running, I will keep on chugging on.  I will keep you updated on my progress.

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.

This is me, but this is not me.

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I’m not quite sure how it happened but I got a little bit fat.

 

Oh yes, that’s right, I remember now, I had 2 babies and I ate a whole heap of cake.  Then I ate chocolate and another cake and then some chocolate cake.  But that is fine, I like cake and I enjoyed eating it but I am not too keen on my new body.

Back in the day, way back when, I was able to eat cake whenever I pleased and kept my svelte figure.  So why not now?  Plain and simple – I’m now OLD (and I had 2 babies, but mostly it’s because I’m old).  The old metabolism just ain’t what it used to be.

Somewhere between going to university, getting married, working, trying to conceive, two more babies and getting old, I lost my ability to eat cake without wearing it on my ass.  And belly.  And thighs.

 

This was me not too long after D and I met.  So about 9 years ago.  I’ll be the first to say it, my body was a rockin.  I was fit, I was strong and looked pretty damn fine in a bikini.  Probably had a lot to do with how much time I spent in the gym.  I guess once I got a boyfriend and a LIFE and a lot more busy, I let the gym slip a bit.  Well, truth be told, I let it slip completely.

With a mini K and a mini J

With a mini K and a mini J.  

 

It is pretty safe to say that I will never look like that again, but now that my body is all mine again, I would like to try and get as close to my former healthy me as I can.

You know how people always say that breastfeeding will help you loose weight?  That may be true, it certainly did when I had K, a million years ago, but that was when I was young.  Now, the years have not been that kind to me and while you do need to eat a few extra calories to make that yummy boob milk for your baby, I think I really was going overboard with the cake.  And brownies.  And cookies.  I hang my head in shame.

 

So here is the plan.  This is operation reclaim my hot bod.  I actually don’t have a real plan except trying to watch what I eat and EXERCISE.  I’ve started counting calories to try and keep my cake habit under control and I WILL MAKE TIME TO EXERCISE.

I’ve started the 30 Day Shred.  The first day nearly killed me.  When Jillian Micheals began with push ups I nearly died but I made it through.  H was propped up on the couch watching me, T joined in and Chum decided that lying in the middle of the floor was the perfect spot.  Yesterday I recovered because every muscle ached, but I did day 2 today and wasn’t even as hard.  Except the crunches.  They were really hard as I had a great big lump of T who thought sitting on my tum was fun.

 

To keep me honest and motivated I am going to show you all me in a bra.  I am mortified by these photos but now that I am showing the world my wobbly bits I will work even hard to make them disappear so I can come back here and post my after photos.

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I’m smiling but only out of embarrassment.

 

I going to aim for the 30 Day Shred 5 times a week, and I am going to try running.  I hate running with a capital H, but as much as I love walking it just doesn’t DO ANYTHING for me any more.  I already have my 2 afternoon walks a week locked in so I am going to attempt the Couch 2 5K during that time so I don’t need to find the extra time to run.  And if I can’t handle it, well I can just walk it.

I’m just dying to feel fit and healthy again and look sexy in underwear.

 

T wants an active Mummy too, so he has been helping me do my workout.

Shit mum.

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It is extremely hard for me to write this post.  I am about to admit things that I can barely admit to myself, but if I don’t get this out soon, I will quite possibly explode and unleash my inner bitch onto the people I love the most and be an even shittier mum than I already feel like I am.

Hands up who has had the dream that you are trying to get somewhere but you just can’t push through the wind and atmosphere that is holding you back?  Like you are grasping at the grass and trees and rocks, trying to pull yourself forward, while you dig your feet into the earth to gain some friction to push against, but despite your best efforts the force pushing against you is just too much?

 

That is how I feel.  Or like I am drowning.

 

I don’t even know where to start or how to explain.

 

I don’t feel like this all the time.  Some days are great and when I am fine, everything is wonderful, but as soon as one little thing goes wrong, it can throw me into the biggest funk imaginable and turn me into an angry, depressed, resentful monster.  There is nothing in this world I love more than my family and all I want to be is a good mother, but I losing touch with the kind of warm, loving, fun mum that I want to be.  Make way for the grumpy, yelling, numb, bitch mother.

I feel like I am losing touch with myself.  I am not this person.  Every day I grow another grey hair and lose a bit more of myself.  Every time I slam a bowl on the bench or say ‘for fucks sake’ I hate myself just a little bit more.

I wanted these babies and I love these babies more than I can possibly put into words and if I had my time over I would still have these babies.  I love them.  I adore them.  I would give my life for them.

 

But, here it is – I am struggling.

 

It is not how hard having two babies is that I am struggling with.  Yes, two babies is bloody hard work.  It is the fact that it is relentless.  It never ends.  Looking after the babies is my job, but it is more than a full time job.  It’s a never fucking ending job.  It’s a ‘never get a GD break’ in your life job.  It’s a non-stop from the moment you wake up until you collapse onto your pillow job.  It’s an on call while you are asleep job.  It’s a 24 hour a day job with no pay, no overtime, no sick days, no weekends, no holidays, no ciggy breaks, no time to eat, no privacy to poo in peace, no time to wash your hair, no me time, no down time, no recognition, no praise, no-one to talk to, hairy legs, bags under the eyes, pyjamas all day, mountains of washing, crap everywhere, groundhog day, just barely existing kind of job.

 

I need a break.  There, I admitted it.  I need a break.

 

I need help and I need support.

 

I need my doodles to pick their own shit up and close the fucking cupboards so I don’t have to spend every waking moment picking up shit that T pulls out, and then deal with the tantrum that ensues.  Don’t bitch because you can’t find your clothes in the morning, put them in the fucking washing basket and I’ll wash them.  Just get ready for school so I don’t have to constantly tell you what to do, you’re teenagers for fucks sake.  Is it so hard to put your shit away in the kitchen after you’ve made a sandwich/noodles/dinner/breakfast?  I picked up 18 fucking dirty socks the other day.  18!  Rubbish goes in the bin, not on the floor.  Don’t fucking taunt T with things he wants but can’t have so I have to be the mean mum when I take him away.  Be thoughtful.  Help without having to be nagged.

 

There is rage in me, there is a deep sadness.  I can’t even say why and I can’t talk to D about it.  I just don’t know what to say, so instead I merely exist and smile through gritted teeth and then cry when I am alone.  But I am telling you blogosphere.  Please don’t think that I don’t love my babies, I do.  I just don’t know who I am anymore.  I need help to find me again.  I want to be happy fun mum.  I want to feel good about myself.  I want to feel attractive.  I want a break.

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!

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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I’m seriously coming undone at the seams.

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I don’t know where to start or what to say.  What I do know is that I am barley holding it together.  I feel like at any moment, the last thread of my saneness is about break and I am going to come undone.  Like, I can visualise my body is held together by string and that thread is unravelling causing all of my muscles and tissue and veins and organs to plop out all over the floor.  My eyes will fall out as will my hair, strand by strand, and all that will be left of me is a saggy bag of empty skin and a pile of bones.

 

To be frank, I am not coping.

 

I am completely overwhelmed and I don’t know what to do.  Everywhere I look I see shit.  I pick up the same shit 10 times a day.  Yesterday I went to the shops and bought a heap more cupboard latches so I could secure every single fucking cupboard and draw in the GD house.  You know how everyone says how great it is to leave the Tupperware cupboard in the kitchen unlocked so your baby can have heaps of fun playing with all the plastic?  NO.  Just no.  Whoever said that obviously wasn’t pregnant and could still bend over and touch their toes.  It is not fun.  No more Tupperware for you.  No more pulling all the tea towels out of the tea towel drawer.  No more decorating your room with nappies.  No more flying pencils from the stationary drawer.  No more.  No more.  No more.  Except for the fact that I have been too exhausted to actually fit the latches, so yes, 1 more day.  Then NO MORE!  Today I think I am just going to leave all the stuff all over the floor and see if the floor fairies help me.

 

I cry.  I cry all the time.  For anything.

T throws some food – I cry.  K lies about doing all his homework – cry.  D says, ‘how are you feeling today?’ – cry.  Evil 2 year old pushes T over in the change room play area (because let’s face it, that is the only place mums can relax for 5 minutes while out shopping) – give child’s mother a glare and then cry.  Find empty packet of mint slices in the fridge – cry.  Fold pile of washing for the 5th time after T pulls them back on the floor – cry.  Of course, if I was actually a decent housewife, I would be able to pull the washing off the line, fold it and put it away before T woke up.  But I’m not.  I’m a shit housewife and I leave the growing pile of washing to be folded on the daybed for T to spread over the room 597 times first.

I cry in the car, I cry while I am shopping, I cry while I am having a coffee.  I’m crying right now.

 

This morning was the worst for me.  So I’m pretty bunged up in the back passage.  I’ve already been to the toilet 386 times and can’t move my poo.  I can feel my arse full of shit but it won’t come out.  I am thinking that this is partially because I am horribly constipated, thank you pregnancy, and partially because I can’t visit the loo alone.  I can’t concentrate and to relax on the dunny is what is needed.  I secretly want to punch D in the face each time he goes to the toilet (alone), closes the door (peace) and his shit falls out like rain falling from the sky (sweet relief).  I would give my left boob for some rain poo.

But I digress… So this morning I went to try and poo for the umpteenth time.  Of course T accompanies me.  He unrolls all the toilet paper, constantly tries to play with the toilet brush, pulls open all the drawers and throws nail polish onto the tiled floor.  Yes, I know.  Just put the GD latches on!  I will, I will!  I’m trying to deliver a poo baby while pleading with a 1 year old to stop this, stop that.  After going for the toilet brush for the third time, I yelled at him and threw my hair brush (which I was holding after he tried to stick it between my legs into the toilet).

I scared my baby.  His bottom lip went out and he looked so hurt.  He wailed, I wailed.  I scooped him up and we sobbed together on the toilet.  Poo stayed in.  Again.

 

I feel like such a horrible mother at the moment.  I’m yelling at my baby?  WTF?  Who am I?  I hate myself so much right now.  I don’t even know who I am.  I have K and D telling me constantly how much they love me but I am just a wreck.  I can’t talk to D about how I am feeling because I can’t verbalise it.  I just cry.

I feel like I am nothing more than a failure.  I can’t keep my house tidy, I’ve lost my patience with my children, I’m not bringing money into the household, I don’t cook, I’m lazy, I look like shit.  What is going on?

 

I am finding it really hard to deal with what I am going through because I don’t feel like I have the right to be ‘going through’ anything.  I love my family more that life itself and I am so incredibly thankful for my husband and the children I have, especially after how hard it was to conceive T, I have not forgotten that.  I am so lucky and happy to be pregnant again with the daughter I longed for.  I feel so guilty that I am struggling.  I shouldn’t be struggling, I should be thankful, and I am, but…  I don’t know.  I just don’t know what to do or how to get out of this feeling.  It is like everything is on top of me and there is too much to do, so I don’t know where to start.  All I want to do is sleep.  I forced myself to stay awake while T had his nap today and cleaned my en suite which felt good to accomplish something but an hour later I felt like shit again.

 

What is wrong with me?  Is this just pregnancy hormones or is it some kind of depression or am I having a breakdown?  Am I just not cut out for this role?

 

I hate seeing my domestic goddess friends on Facebook posting the beautiful gourmet meals they cooked their families and reading their status updates on how they cleaned their entire houses until they sparkled, did arts and craft with their kids, gave themselves a mani/pedi, had romantic dates with their spouses and still had time to take the kids to the park or the beach and put on make up.  Not a man toe or grey hair in sight.  FRIENDS – this is not a dig at any one person, just collectively as a group you are all kicking my pathetic domestic butt.  I fail on all accounts.

 

Why am I feeling like this?  I love my husband, we are happy.  I love my children.  I am happy to be having another.  Why am I crying?  Poor D does not know what to do or how to help me.  What can I do?  I would eat more chocolate but the mint slices are all gone.

 

No picture to go with the post.  Just a sad face 😦

 

I did by the way, end up on getting the poo out of my butt.  After T went to sleep for his nap I was able to relax and out she came.  I almost needed an episiotomy but the relief was good.

The moving day saga – Part 2. Mourning the loss of breastmilk.

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Continuing on from my last post about moving house.  As you know it was a stressful/frustrating/want to stab myself (or anyone who ventured close enough) in the eye kinda day.

You would think that once we finally finished off all we were going to do that day and did the final drive to the new place to relax and get take-out, all the feelings of hate and murder would just wash away.  Well, no, no they did not.  My friends, things took a turn for the worse.  You didn’t think they could get any worse?  Neither did I, but worse they did get.

 

During the afternoon of frustration, I tried to nurse T a few times, but he decided that he didn’t feel like it and was more happy to just bite my poor tender pregnant nipple.  And my shoulder, fingers, toes, leg, nose – anything he could sink his teeth into really.  Teething is such a joy.  This was not unusual, as he had been pretty bitey of late, but usually he would reserve using his chompers until the END of the boob feed.

I didn’t think too much of it, after all there was a lot going on to distract him with all the moving furniture and the non-cleaning and the sitting on the floor in an empty room trapped by oven cleaner fumes wafting down the hall way (if you don’t get it, see this post).  I would want to bite the person responsible for holding me captive in such a predicament too, if I was a baby .

 

We got ‘home’ finally with our Red Rooster, woofed down some tucker, pulled up the port-a-cot, gave T a quick bath and then settled in for his bed time boob.  BITE.  Ouch.  Why, Theo?  Why?  Surely you must want some boob, you haven’t had any for most of the day, and surely you must want to go to sleep so I can drop dead from exhaustion.

Try again.  BITE.  Wait for a few mins and try again.  BITE.  WTF?!

‘D, take the baby,’ says I, before running off to have a sob on the bed.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  OK, composed now.

This time, I take T to feed in the quiet of his bedroom instead of the lounge room.  There is no way he can resist yummy boob in his quiet bedroom, right?  BITE.  BITE.  BITE

 

Dump T on D and run off to wail, howl and scream into my pillow.  Everything and everything crashing down all around.  All the moving stress, all the frustration, all the throbbing bite marks exploding in my heart.  D tentatively pokes his head into the bedroom and asks what he can do.  ‘I don’t knowwwwwwww waaa waaa waaaa!’  I sob.  He asks if I want him to defrost some milk from the freezer.  ‘I don’t knowwwwwwwww waaa waaa yes, no , I don’t care, whatever, ok.’  I admit defeat, thinking that there is no way it is going to work anyway.  T fucking hates bottles.  Mother-in-law has to give him my milk from a spoon when she babysits.

 

He guzzled it down.  FROM A BOTTLE PEEPS!  100mL in 2 seconds flat and was looking for more.  I defrosted another 100mL bag which he also guzzled and then another 90mL which he drank and was content enough to go to bed.  Damn, the kid was starving.

After this I sank into the couch and died a little inside.  I fetched my pump and sat down to express all the milk I had stoed up in my boobs during the afternoon and evening.  20mL.  20 measly little mLs.  No bloody milk my friends.  I guess that is what he was trying to tell me with all the biting.

I tried to give him boob in the morning.  BITE.  Crap.  Last bag of breastmilk.  No more milk.  I pumped and got a little and went out to do what every nursing mother doesn’t want to do – buy formula.  How freaking hard is it to choose which formula to buy?  Do I buy the pro or the gold or the pro gold or the plus or the plus gold or the pro plus?

 

Anyway, as it turned out T took to the bottle and formula with gusto.  The pregnancy had officially dried me up and my milk had begun to turn back to colostrum.  I knew that it had been diminishing somewhat but wasn’t expecting it to dry up completely so soon.  I think the stress of the move finished me off.  T had been a bit of a miserable grump for a few weeks prior and we put it down to teething.  I actually now think that I was starving the poor little dude.  Once he was getting a nice full belly again he chilled out and became so much more content and happy.

Once I saw the change in him and realised that it was time to move on and he needed the extra nutrition that I could no longer give him, I made peace with the change.  My little doodle is thriving on formula now as he was once thriving on breastmilk.  I did the best I could for him and I am proud of myself.

As an added bonus, I have discovered that there is a certain freedom that comes with being a formula feeding mum.  My boobs are mine again until LSP arrives and therefore, so am I.  If I need to go out for a bit and leave T with D, I don’t need to race home for his next feed.  Hell, I can even sleep in and D can do the morning shift.  He have settled into a nice system – you know I love systems – I get up with T weekdays and D gets a little extra rest in before work, you know, because he works soooo hard (insert sarcasm – ummmm, I work too) but on the weekends we both get a big sleep in.  He gets Saturday sleep in and I get Sunday sleep in.  Works for me!

I don’t have any photos of T on the bottle so I will leave you with this instead.

It’s an oldie but a goodie.  T after a few too many boobs.

Sick baby and a new car and a challenge.

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This post has three points of call but first I want to give a massive shout out to all the dads that celebrated Dad’s day yesterday.  Whether you are a new dad, old dad, granddad, surrogate dad, uncle, brother, step-dad, foster dad, cool dad, funny dad, weird dad, a dad no longer with us, or a single mum working both the mum and dad roles, you all rock in my book.

Dads are awesome, especially my dad and D.  Dad and D, you are the best dads in all of the lands and I love you both infinity + 1.  Dad, thank you for always being there for me and supporting me and always telling me I look beautiful (even when I don’t).  You’ve  helped to shape me into the lady (said in the ‘I’m a laaaady’ voice from Little Britain) I am today.  D, thank you for being the coolest dad (and husband) in town and making our doodles laugh each and every day.  Never a dull moment in our house.  Love.  Admiration.  Gratitude.

 

Sick Baby

T has his first cold 😦

I think we’ve done pretty good not catching one until now.  I believe this is a testament to the goodness of magic boob milk.  But regardless, even the magic milk couldn’t protect him forever.  I caught it from J and T caught it from me.  K is fine.  He NEVER gets sick, probably something to do with how filthy he always is.

Having a sick baby is sad.  My poor little muffin is having such a hard time nursing and eating.  He nose is dripping like a tap and when he tries to eat all the snot bubbles out of his nose.  It really is a woeful sight.  He is not really sick, but just enough sick to be sad and clingy and sad and tired and sad.  Thankfully it hasn’t affected his sleeping at night and we have been getting through it with extra cuddles and nurses and an extra nap.  We had just managed to drop the third day time nap but have taken it back up again for the moment.

He HATES having his nose wiped.  Like seriously, screams the place down but I have to do it.  Mummy always has to do that bad jobs and be the evil parent.  I tried to use a bulb aspirator thingy and I swear after that experience I will never ever use one of those again.  I have already binned it.

Bulb aspirators = Baby torture.  Bulb aspirators = Baby thinks ‘Mummy hates me’.  Bulb aspirators = Mummy dies a bit in her heart.

 

Even though T was sick we all went in the new bus (more on this later) to the Gold Coast Show on Saturday.  It was effing freezing folks.  Wind chill -OMG.  Even though my nipples were on permanent erect, the boys had a good time.  They wanted to go but we didn’t want to spend a fortune so decided to pay for the entry and they had to pay for everything else they wanted.  J took $50 and K took $20 because he is saving for an iPad.

K has named himself bravest in the family after going on the Kamikaze.  No way in the world would I go on that thing.  Maybe 20 years ago…

We found a free activity at the show.  I know, I couldn’t believe it myself.  FREE??? At the Gold Coast Show???  Crazy.

K and J participated in a free Lego competition.  They each had 20 mins to build anything.

J had no idea what his creation was. It was a lump of random Lego pieces haphazardly put together to form a – in J’s words, ‘it’s a, ummmm, ship thingy?’

K started off making a snow base for which he was going to make a polar bear. With 5 mins left of the competition he became frustrated with his ‘polar bear’ (lump of white), pulled it all off and started building another lump of white. When interviewed about his creation his polar bear had morphed into an igloo. Somehow, and we are not sure how, K’s lump off white earned him 2nd place and a Lego policeman pack.

Checking out all the crap J wasted his dollars on.

Sick and sad and tired T at the show. Still Theodorable.

I expected to get a call to work this morning but didn’t.  I think just as well considering T is still not 100%.  Mother in law finds it hard to carry him a lot because of her bung shoulder and at the moment T likes to be held, so lucky for all concerned that I get to be home with him again today.  Here is a photo taken just now of Little Bear sleeping off his sick.

 

New Car

The time had come when we had to face the facts.  My little Hyundai i30, while still an awesome car which technically could squeeze in all the family, was just too small for us.  Time to upgrade and upgrade we did!

And when I say upgrade I mean UPGRADE to a BUS!  Not really a bus, but pretty darn close!

We really liked the Nissan Elgrand and were looking at trying to get a 2002 model or there abouts.  They were somewhere in the vicinity of $16K – $20K which is a fair chunk of coin.  Then out of nowhere came this absolute fucking bargain too good to pass up.  It is a 1999 model which was a few years older than we wanted but at $9K such a massive saving we just had to check it out.  At that price, it was going for well below market value.  We bought it.

 

 

 

Only teensy little problem is we now have 3 cars.  Anyone want to buy an i30?

It is super cool.  There is plenty of room for everyone.  T’s car seat goes in the back row and he loves the new view.  In the i30 all he had to look at was the black window shades but the tint is so dark on these windows, shades are not needed.   K is stoked that he can have his own reading light for night trips that won’t annoy the driver.  J has been enjoying sitting in different spots each journey.  It’s great because the boys can sit apart so they don’t touch each other or look at each other because you know that, ‘he looked at me’, is always cause to start of a car fight.  Also, I OWN the road now.

 

The Challenge

Found this little challenge as I was blog surfing and decided that if there was one thing I needed help with it was getting to the bottom of the shit around here and organising my house.

Just a few minor technicalities……

Last week was dedicated to completing some pre-challenge tasks.  Basically getting ready to start.  I didn’t.  Is it bad that I was too unorganised to complete the tasks I needed to complete to become organised?  I am sorry Organised Housewife, it’s the sick baby and the new car’s fault.

Anyway, I am looking at it this way.  I am just a little over extended at the moment to do this challenge 100%, but I would like some kind of plan or guidance to do a half-arsed job of it.  I do love a good plan.  I really like the way she gets you to organise yourself.  You build a folder with lists and shit to do in it.  This becomes your bible should you need to organise your life again in 6 months or a year later.  Lists are my friend.  All I need to do now is actually go and buy a folder and some ink for the printer…

The plan is this.  We are going to have to move out of our little house in the coming months.  We are looking at before Christmas.  I am going to do a half attempt at completing the challenge now.  Meaning, I will do what I can when I can.  And then in a couple of months when things have settled around here I will do the challenge again with gusto.  This will make packing and moving a gazillion times easier too.

 

Today is challenge day 1.  Today’s task is to clean and organise your kitchen.  Right at this point in time my kitchen looks like a hippo’s asshole.  Have you ever seen a hippo’s butt?  I have, I watched a doco on the hippopotomus last night.  They do a super wet and sloppy shit and use their tail to whip that shit all around the river.  Class act, and just like my kitchen.

I have half of D’s trip to the super market still on the bench, a junk bowl from hell, drop zone for everyone’s crap, dishes in the sink and a tower of pills and potions on top of the microwave.  I will photograph the hippo butt for you.

 

Disclaimer – my kitchen is not ALWAYS like this.  It has been a particularly busy and crazy weekend and morning.  Sick baby takes it out of you (I just spent 1 hour rocking a hysterical T to sleep), and here I am blogging instead of getting into it.  Also, all my doodles are slobs.  Sometimes it feels as if I am fighting a loosing battle.

If you squint it doesn’t look that bad. That’s not true it still looks bad. I am mortified to show you this. Oh the shame.

So that is it.  Stay tuned for the most amazing ‘after’ photo imaginable.  Anything would be better than that mess right?

Far too good to be stuffed back in the cupboard, forgotten for another 20 years.

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I went to bed early last night with the intention of catching up on some much needed ZZZZs.  Stupidly, I took reading material with me.  I’m an idiot.  Everyone knows the only material which is guaranteed to put you to sleep EVERY SINGLE TIME is mandatory university readings which you have skillfully put off looking at until the night before your tutorial.  I know that many of you right now are nodding your heads, and just gave a little chortle in agreement.  If you have either been to uni, or are currently at uni, you know what I’m talking about!

I used this picture because cats are cute and smart, but even cats cannot stay awake to read university readings.

 

Seriously, in my mind’s eye I see a secret society of university lecturers all gathering in a candle lit lecture theatre late at night, when all the good students are at home drinking double espresso, trying to keep their bloodshot eyes open long enough to get through just one fucking page of a 100 page compulsory reading before class the following day.  The head lecturer moves to the front of the congregation and raises his candle, signaling the start of the meeting.

He speaks, ‘Fellow members of the secret ‘Make-Your-Students-Want-To-Shoot-Their-Faces-Off’ society’, I bring you here to impress upon you the importance of boring the arses off your students.  Select for them the most mind numbing, soul destroying, monotonous readings you have in the depth of your filing cabinet.  Any readings you have classified as ‘a hot poker in the eye socket would be better than reading this’ in EndNote will suffice.  Now go!  Put together a selection of your worst.  No less than 2000 complied pages will do.’  A cacophony of evil laughter is heard as the dark figures file out of the lecture theatre and into the night.

 

But I digress…

 

So, I went to bed early last night with the intention of catching up on some much needed ZZZZs.  I took my box of old diaries and letters with me and took myself back to yesteryear.  There is far too much classic comedy GOLD in that box to hide it away again.  Now that I have found it, I feel it is my duty to share it.  Any mothers out there with young daughters take note – this is what YOUR girls are writing in their diaries behind closed doors!  Oh the horror!

Here we go again, without edits.

 

5/01/89 Dear Diary,  (11 years old)

Today was totally boring all that was on TV was tenis and sick soapies and to top it all off I had to water the plants!  I got a post card from Megan today and I found Mindy’s phone number in the phone book.  Really interesting.

6/01/89 Dear Diary,

Their was nothing to do today so I looked up my own phone number in the phone book thats how bored I was.  I made half friends with Tammy again and Kevin is a pain in the neck.  I have nothing else to write.  Goodbuy.

7/01/89 Dear Diary,

Today was boring as well.  I rang Stacey up 4 times and Mindy 2 times.  Megan got back to day she rang Stacey the second she got back and didn’t call me at all.  What a poff I hate her so much.

9/01/89 Dear Diary,

Me and Tammy went to the shops and got bubble gum and lollies.  We went to Tammys mums friends house and swam in the pool, river, pool, river, pool, river then we played pool but we couldn’t play river HA HA.

 

 

Can you believe I had to WATER THE PLANTS!!!  My parents were so mean to me!  Obviously I had an adventurous summer holiday that year.  11 year old me was still pretty innocent, but just you wait til you get a load of 14 year old me.  I am deeply embarrassed to put this up, but in the interest of having a laugh at my expense, I’ll do it.

 

29/08/91 Dear Diary,

We arrived at the school dance in a vintage yellow car.  Rob and Matt and Jamien and Leith were there and were paying out on us.  Scott wasn’t there yet.  When we got there Melinda went strait off and hung out with Angela and Eva, what a bitch!  I was talking to Leith and he said ‘would you root Scott?’ and Melanie said ‘yes she would’ and I said ‘maybe but only after a while’.  Leith said ‘so you would?’ and I said ‘yes, I just wouldn’t jump at the first opartunity to get down his pants’.  Then we were dancing and then were all talking outside.  I was talking to Alan and Craig and Dallas and some other grade 12s, then I went back and sat with Mel.  Jamien and Leith and Troy and Jay and Peter came over and they said ‘you excite Alan’ and Mel said ‘Alan excites Soph’ just joking but he took it seriously.  Then we had to go and speaking of going, I must depart.  Full House is on.

Love Soph.  I love Scott.

4/09/91 Dear Diary,

I am so pissed of with life.  I haven’t seen Scott in days and its so annoying.  I love him like I’ve never loved anyone else.  Today I heard that Scott only went out with me for a joke.  Im so depresed.  I am sick of being in trouble and being stuck in the office.  If I don’t get out of detention soon I am going to swap schools even though I don’t want to leave all my friends.  Life sux.  If a fairy granted me 3 wishes it would be – 1. to go back out with Scott for a very long time.  2. to be a famous model like Alison Brahe.  3. For Mum and Dad to like Mel.

Love pissed off  Soph.  I still love Scott.

 

 

Oh. My. Gaaawwd!!!  I was such a fucking git!  Totally boy crazy, those hormones must have been running rampant.  I must have been a total bitchface to live with.  Thank goodness I have boys.  I also have to say that I cannot even REMEMBER most of those people I wrote about.  Obviously nothing more than a fleeting presence in my life.  I do remember Scott because he lived up the road.  I think we went out for about a week.  A truer love there never was(n’t).

I wasn’t an actual slut.  I had a gazillion boyfriends, but they didn’t last any longer than a week.  Some of them I never even spoke to.  ‘So-and-so wants to go out with you’, I say OK and then we avoid each other like the plague until it got boring and I’d get someone to go and break up with him for me.  I was still quite young, I didn’t actually have a real boyfriend until I was in year 10.  I do remember him though, he really was my first love.  But not my true love, that’s D.

How many of you still have diaries from when you were young and stupid?  Were you a brazen hussy like me?  I cringe when I read this nonsense, but it was who I was back then.  In retrospect, I can laugh at teenage me and appreciate how ridiculous I was.  I did not know what love was, yet I was ‘in love’ with a new random every week.    I now KNOW about love.  I’m all grown up with children and a man I adore -this is love.  This is what it is all about.  Your teenage self is just a rehearsal for the real thing.  I guess that is why one goes through so many boyfriends.  It is just fine tuning.  Practicing for perfection.