I have three children. Two of the three children, the eldest and youngest, are expert vomiters. My oldest, Elle, has been able, from a very young age able to sense that she is feeling sick that it might result in her vomiting, and gets herself to either the bathroom or the kitchen sink and vomit neatly into a receptacle from which the vomit is easily removed. I applaud her for vomiting into the garbage disposal.
If she has been ill for some time, she will lie, Camille like, with a bucket beside her bed, and quietly and effortlessly be sick into the bucket without a single bit of spew spilling out of it. My youngest, Harry, is not quite that good, but almost as good, but fortunately has never been sick very often.
My middle child, Billy, however is completely different. If there is a way of vomiting to cause the most carnage in the house, he will find a way to do it. He has been known to stand at the door of his bedroom and say to me 'mum, I feel sick'. And as I am yelling at him to 'quick, go to the bathroom', he will stand and vomit on the carpet in the hallway, take three steps, vomit again, take another three steps and vomit again. This happened once, the afternoon of the morning in which I had spent several hundred dollars having the carpets shampooed. That night, I set him up in bed with six towels laid out over the side of the bed and on the floor beside the bed with the largest, widest receptacle I could find on the towels on the floor, and said to him 'if you feel sick during the night, just roll over and vomit into the bucket'. I heard him calling out in the night and went up to his room to find that sure enough he had rolled over to be sick, but had rolled in the opposite direction and had vomited down the wall on the other side of his bed. And onto the trundle bed underneath. He got his own bed, the trundle, the wall, the carpet, and various books and toys that had been MIA down the side of his bed. I stood there expecting some sort of TV show cameraman to appear from out of nowhere to film this scene for a comedy TV show. And wishing a fairy would appear to help me clean up the mess.
But the night that took the cake was the night this family will never forget. It went down in vomiting history. We call it the Night of the Long Spew. We had been to the local Italian restaurant for dinner to celebrate the end of yet another school term. Billy always asked for the spaghetti carbonara, and he always thought he would be able to finish the entire serve, which is enormous, and had never been successful. This particular night, he ate more than usual, and it was not until the end of the meal that I realised that he had four cans of Fanta as well. This was never going to end well. As we were all walking to the car, i noticed that he did not look well. I asked him if he was all right. He said he felt a bit sick. I turned to The Lawyer, and said 'I think Billy is going to be sick'. The Lawyer said that it was a short drive home and he would be all right. He's not normally like that. He normally assumes the worst. This has now been confirmed as the appropriate position to take
Meanwhile, my mother's intuition overtook my usual optimism and I had a baaad feeling about this. A Very Bad Feeling. We all got in the car with Billy leaning against the window, looking greener and greener. We had not gone 100 metres from the restaurant when he sat bolt upright and said 'I am going to be sick. I'm going to be sick'. The Lawyer shouted 'wind down the window'. As Billy pressed the automatic button to get the window down, he vomited into the glass, all the while holding his finger on the button, so that as the window slid down into the internals of the car door, the vomit went with it or overflowed into the car. The other two children started gagging because of the putrid smell. I started shouting at The Lawyer to drive faster to get home as fast as he could, but resisting the overpowering urge to do something violent for not listening to me. Again Billy said he was going to be sick again. The Lawyer shouted at him to lean his head out the window. He did this and vomited again. This time, it smeared down the outside of the car along the back window and onto the car travelling beside us.
By this time, I was also gagging. We got home, all five car doors opened. I raced Billy into the bathroom and put him under the shower fully clothed to remove the smell and remains of his dinner from his clothes and hair. The other two children ran to their rooms and slammed the doors shut. I stayed in the bathroom with Billy for some time to make sure he was all right. When I came out of the bathroom 15 minutes later, I went outside and The Lawyer was still standing outside, staring at the car still with all five doors open. Bits of Billy’s dinner were still dripping from the inside of the car. He looked at me and said 'well, I guess that’s settled then. We have to sell the car'. AMFYOYO
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Meals on rotation
I thought that when I semi retired from the paid workforce I would have time for all sorts of endeavours. Driving to the beach for the day was one of them (failed). Serving home made cake and cold milos for afternoon tea while chatting to the children about their days was another (again, failed but because every afternoon from 3-6pm was spent driving, white knuckles clinging to the steering wheel as i ferried children from one thing to another.
But the one thing I really really really wanted to do most of all was cook interesting meals from scratch after reading all of the Donna Hay magazines I had, a large number of which were still in plastic wrappers.
I remember the night I realised I was in a cooking rut. It was a Tuesday. I called each of the darlings to the table for dinner and placed a chicken pasta bake casserole thingy in front of them. They all looked at it. Then at me. Elle said 'where's the spaghetti bolognaise?' 'what do you mean', I asked. 'It's Tuesday', she replied, 'we have spaghetti bolognaise on Tuesdays'.
Now I am an organised person. My kids love my spag bog as we call it. And when I cook it, I cook 4 kilos of mince into spag bog, and a pre-prepared sauce bottle has never made it near my scanpan pot. So I always have a full meal of cooked spag bog in the freezer and Tuesdays just happened to the most fucked up afternoon requiring an easily reheatable meal with minimal extras, eg cooking pasta. I'm not sure what happened that day - maybe I had run out - but they were devastated to not have their usual meal. It got me thinking about the meals I cooked, and the rut i was in. And I am pleased to report am still in.
Spag bog - as previously advised. The Lawyer however claims that he can't face spag bog after eating it every week ever since our first child was about two. So that would be 17 years. I understand his feelings but I will not cook two meals any more.
Sausage casserole - a recipe handed down from my MIL, which I think I do better than her. Thick tomato gravy. Delicious with lashings of mashed potato. But Elle says it makes her feel sick so I have to make sure there is always leftover spag bog for her. And Billy loves sausage casserole for breakfast
Beef and kumara curry from taste.com.au (and in the slow cooker). Easy as. But Billy doesn't like curry so I have to make sure there is always leftover spag bog and sausage casserole for him
Shepherd's pie done the old fashioned way. My DOD (dear old dad) especially loves this one, and the sausage casserole. Billy and Harry like to have leftover Shepherd's pie for breakfast the next day.
Lasagne made with one of the frozen spag bog meals
Beef cannelloni made with fresh (but store bought) lasagne sheets
Chicken leek and mushroom cannelloni (as with beef) - both favourites with everyone except DOD who is 'not a pasta man'
Fried rice to use up all the leftover rice I cook because I always make at least twice as much as I need
Peanut chicken - the only recipe I cook from the Women's Weekly microwave cookbook yet I keep the entire book, just in case
A chicken pasta bake I make up as I go along and depends on what I have in the refrigerator
A Donna Hay chicken lemon basil pasta dish.
My new favourite is Marion's Kitchen Pad Thai. Absolutely delicious and easy peasy.
So that is basically it- our household meals (other than dinner parties which don't happen that frequently any more). And every time I cook one of them I cook at least enough for two meals. For those fucked up afternoons when all I can manage is to hit the reheat button on the microwave. Sorry Donna Hay - one day i will take all those dog eared pages and do something with them.
Now that I think about it, how did I come to be a slave in my own palace? That's a whole other topic for another day.
AMFYOYO
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
But the one thing I really really really wanted to do most of all was cook interesting meals from scratch after reading all of the Donna Hay magazines I had, a large number of which were still in plastic wrappers.
I remember the night I realised I was in a cooking rut. It was a Tuesday. I called each of the darlings to the table for dinner and placed a chicken pasta bake casserole thingy in front of them. They all looked at it. Then at me. Elle said 'where's the spaghetti bolognaise?' 'what do you mean', I asked. 'It's Tuesday', she replied, 'we have spaghetti bolognaise on Tuesdays'.
Now I am an organised person. My kids love my spag bog as we call it. And when I cook it, I cook 4 kilos of mince into spag bog, and a pre-prepared sauce bottle has never made it near my scanpan pot. So I always have a full meal of cooked spag bog in the freezer and Tuesdays just happened to the most fucked up afternoon requiring an easily reheatable meal with minimal extras, eg cooking pasta. I'm not sure what happened that day - maybe I had run out - but they were devastated to not have their usual meal. It got me thinking about the meals I cooked, and the rut i was in. And I am pleased to report am still in.
Spag bog - as previously advised. The Lawyer however claims that he can't face spag bog after eating it every week ever since our first child was about two. So that would be 17 years. I understand his feelings but I will not cook two meals any more.
Sausage casserole - a recipe handed down from my MIL, which I think I do better than her. Thick tomato gravy. Delicious with lashings of mashed potato. But Elle says it makes her feel sick so I have to make sure there is always leftover spag bog for her. And Billy loves sausage casserole for breakfast
Beef and kumara curry from taste.com.au (and in the slow cooker). Easy as. But Billy doesn't like curry so I have to make sure there is always leftover spag bog and sausage casserole for him
Shepherd's pie done the old fashioned way. My DOD (dear old dad) especially loves this one, and the sausage casserole. Billy and Harry like to have leftover Shepherd's pie for breakfast the next day.
Lasagne made with one of the frozen spag bog meals
Beef cannelloni made with fresh (but store bought) lasagne sheets
Chicken leek and mushroom cannelloni (as with beef) - both favourites with everyone except DOD who is 'not a pasta man'
Fried rice to use up all the leftover rice I cook because I always make at least twice as much as I need
Peanut chicken - the only recipe I cook from the Women's Weekly microwave cookbook yet I keep the entire book, just in case
A chicken pasta bake I make up as I go along and depends on what I have in the refrigerator
A Donna Hay chicken lemon basil pasta dish.
My new favourite is Marion's Kitchen Pad Thai. Absolutely delicious and easy peasy.
So that is basically it- our household meals (other than dinner parties which don't happen that frequently any more). And every time I cook one of them I cook at least enough for two meals. For those fucked up afternoons when all I can manage is to hit the reheat button on the microwave. Sorry Donna Hay - one day i will take all those dog eared pages and do something with them.
Now that I think about it, how did I come to be a slave in my own palace? That's a whole other topic for another day.
AMFYOYO
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Ignoring harassment and discrimination makes it worse Ms Redmond
South Australian opposition Leader Isobel Redmond made some startling comments at a women's leadership function yesterday about sexual harassment and discrimination. That she made the comments at all is worrying. What is worse is that she was speaking at an event one presumes is intended to inspire other women who are already in, or seeking to be in, leadership positions.
In a nutshell, she advocates that women should just ignore sexual harassment and discrimination and it will hopefully go away. She also suggested that taking legal action was a bad idea as it would make people hate you. Ms Redmond, after 20 years of working in HR management, and having been subject to both myself, I can tell you absolutely and categorically that ignoring it will not make it go away. In fact, it makes it worse. Much worse.
The perpetrators of harassment in particular are usually bullies. Bullies hate people standing up to them and in fact rely on them being fearful so they can repeat the behaviour without fear of retribution or punishment. They wear down their victim. If the victim doesn't 'play along' (and I use the word 'play' because it is a game to them) they end up bullying their victim until they either leave the organisation or develop an anxiety disorder, eating disorder, depression or all of the above. If their victim leaves (having tried to ignore it and not taking legal avenues), then they are free to wreak their particular brand of torture on the next person. And get away with it again. And again. And again.
I have seen first hand the effect of this on women. It is traumatising. It is not right and I am astounded and appalled that any woman in a leadership role could think this is acceptable. I'm glad I don't work for her. If I was I would be leaving. Today. As to not taking legal action - I would rather be proud of myself for standing up to both the perpetrator and the organisation supporting him by trying to stop it than worrying about people 'hating' me.
Sex discrimination is similar but does not usually result in the same psychological trauma as ongoing sexual harassment or bullying. But it can if it is ongoing. And it is usually very subtle but often not. Everyone has either conscious or unconscious bias that they bring to the workplace. Women and men. When it comes to discrimination it is up to women in leadership roles to challenge these biases in relation to women and their roles at work. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Ms Redmond - EVERY SINGLE DAY. How wonderful it would have been to read you made a speech about that instead of what you said. Never accept that it is ok to hear a man say for example that once a woman has children or works part time she is not 'committed' or that part time workers are not profitable. Call bullshit on that and loudly. Speak up. I do it EVERY SINGLE DAY. Mentor women in those situations and help them and the people they work for challenge those assumptions and prevent discrimination.
It's hard work and you feel like you are pushing a heavy wheelbarrow uphill sometimes but it is so worth it. Otherwise what is the point in wanting to be a leader and a female leader at that?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
In a nutshell, she advocates that women should just ignore sexual harassment and discrimination and it will hopefully go away. She also suggested that taking legal action was a bad idea as it would make people hate you. Ms Redmond, after 20 years of working in HR management, and having been subject to both myself, I can tell you absolutely and categorically that ignoring it will not make it go away. In fact, it makes it worse. Much worse.
The perpetrators of harassment in particular are usually bullies. Bullies hate people standing up to them and in fact rely on them being fearful so they can repeat the behaviour without fear of retribution or punishment. They wear down their victim. If the victim doesn't 'play along' (and I use the word 'play' because it is a game to them) they end up bullying their victim until they either leave the organisation or develop an anxiety disorder, eating disorder, depression or all of the above. If their victim leaves (having tried to ignore it and not taking legal avenues), then they are free to wreak their particular brand of torture on the next person. And get away with it again. And again. And again.
I have seen first hand the effect of this on women. It is traumatising. It is not right and I am astounded and appalled that any woman in a leadership role could think this is acceptable. I'm glad I don't work for her. If I was I would be leaving. Today. As to not taking legal action - I would rather be proud of myself for standing up to both the perpetrator and the organisation supporting him by trying to stop it than worrying about people 'hating' me.
Sex discrimination is similar but does not usually result in the same psychological trauma as ongoing sexual harassment or bullying. But it can if it is ongoing. And it is usually very subtle but often not. Everyone has either conscious or unconscious bias that they bring to the workplace. Women and men. When it comes to discrimination it is up to women in leadership roles to challenge these biases in relation to women and their roles at work. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Ms Redmond - EVERY SINGLE DAY. How wonderful it would have been to read you made a speech about that instead of what you said. Never accept that it is ok to hear a man say for example that once a woman has children or works part time she is not 'committed' or that part time workers are not profitable. Call bullshit on that and loudly. Speak up. I do it EVERY SINGLE DAY. Mentor women in those situations and help them and the people they work for challenge those assumptions and prevent discrimination.
It's hard work and you feel like you are pushing a heavy wheelbarrow uphill sometimes but it is so worth it. Otherwise what is the point in wanting to be a leader and a female leader at that?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
My life as a driving instructor
Today I lined up outside the Post Office waiting for it to open at 9am. I was excited. Today was the day I lodged my 17 year old son's driving log book with dozens of pages meticulously filled in, detailing his 100 hours of driving practice needed before he sits his exam next month.
This is the second of my children to have gone through this and the second time I have endured it. I have estimated that allowing for driving school lessons and The Lawyer supervising I have been in the passenger seat with a teenaged learner driver for about 140 loooong hours. That's 140 hours without my own brake pedal. Or steering wheel. Or alcohol.
I got my license after a few drives with my sister's boyfriend and a lucky break on the test.
When my eldest first started learning to drive I wanted to find the person who invented this 100 hours thing and beat them to a pulp. 100 hours (give or take a few) of being trapped inside a moving vehicle with little control, with a hormonal mostly hysterical teenager at the wheel. I mean, who could possibly think that was a good idea? Clearly not a parent I thought.
I am convinced of its virtue now that I am through with two confident sensible drivers but more importantly FOUR years before I have to do it again. Please don't change the rules guys and make it 150 hours before then.
So I have some tips for those about to embark on this 'journey' with their teenagers.
* the local cemetery is a good place to start. If it is a big one there will be a network of roads, T intersections, hills, even possibly a roundabout. And all the people there are already dead.
* practice not looking nervous even if you are shitting yourself with fear. Plaster a smile on your face
* do not gasp for breath every time another moving vehicle appears in your peripheral vision
* nail your left leg to the door if necessary to stop yourself shrinking away from the gutter when they drive very close to it.
* try not to push your right foot through the floor if you don't think they are braking fast enough
* do not try to 'win' the prize of being a better instructor than your spouse. If you win you lose because you will be the preferred supervisor
* don't hesitate to instruct them to pull over and take over the driving if they (and I mean she) doesn't listen and starts yelling at you
* every 10 minutes counts
So good luck. Especially if you have twins!!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
This is the second of my children to have gone through this and the second time I have endured it. I have estimated that allowing for driving school lessons and The Lawyer supervising I have been in the passenger seat with a teenaged learner driver for about 140 loooong hours. That's 140 hours without my own brake pedal. Or steering wheel. Or alcohol.
I got my license after a few drives with my sister's boyfriend and a lucky break on the test.
When my eldest first started learning to drive I wanted to find the person who invented this 100 hours thing and beat them to a pulp. 100 hours (give or take a few) of being trapped inside a moving vehicle with little control, with a hormonal mostly hysterical teenager at the wheel. I mean, who could possibly think that was a good idea? Clearly not a parent I thought.
I am convinced of its virtue now that I am through with two confident sensible drivers but more importantly FOUR years before I have to do it again. Please don't change the rules guys and make it 150 hours before then.
So I have some tips for those about to embark on this 'journey' with their teenagers.
* the local cemetery is a good place to start. If it is a big one there will be a network of roads, T intersections, hills, even possibly a roundabout. And all the people there are already dead.
* practice not looking nervous even if you are shitting yourself with fear. Plaster a smile on your face
* do not gasp for breath every time another moving vehicle appears in your peripheral vision
* nail your left leg to the door if necessary to stop yourself shrinking away from the gutter when they drive very close to it.
* try not to push your right foot through the floor if you don't think they are braking fast enough
* do not try to 'win' the prize of being a better instructor than your spouse. If you win you lose because you will be the preferred supervisor
* don't hesitate to instruct them to pull over and take over the driving if they (and I mean she) doesn't listen and starts yelling at you
* every 10 minutes counts
So good luck. Especially if you have twins!!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Who looks after me?
I see a shrink on a regular basis which I actually enjoy. I 'endure' (I hate that word 'suffer') both depression and anxiety - with varying degrees of intensity, yet most people in my life, including my spouse, The Lawyer, and close friends, remain oblivious to this fact. I think I have been anxious my whole life being a catastrophiser and worrier for as long as I can remember. I was diagnosed officially with serious anxiety five years ago after a particularly horrid workplace experience involving both sexual harassment and bullying over a long period of time. Long before I left that employer (being stubborn and all) I was told by an occupational health specialist that there was nothing wrong with me. I was just working for a psychopath. Anyhoo - that's a long story for another day.
I was just starting to both come to terms with this aspect of my health, having worked happily elsewhere for a couple of years and deciding to take a year off work, when my mother died suddenly and unexpectedly. And I am now assisting my dad who is on his own and ninety years old this year. So I worry ALL THE TIME. About him. What to cook him. My kids. Their future. My daughter's obnoxious boyfriend messing with her head. Money. Where my career is going. The dog. My ancient cat. Other people's children. Other people's health. Other people's children. My health. My weight. I worry about the fact that I worry ALL THE TIME.
I thought giving up work was going to be the answer to all my problems. You know, I was 'getting off the treadmill'. I had visions of myself reading my book by the pool (never done that), going to the beach for the day (did that once, feeling guilty all day), movies with girlfriends (again once, on my birthday), having a tidy home and generally being serene. That was my goal. Being serene. It has never happened. 'aah the serenity' i want to be able to say.
It's never going to happen. I'm just not that kind of person I guess.
Getting off the treadmill just meant that I got straight onto a cross trainer. Or a hamster wheel. I know I was efficient and organised when I was working but I look back and wonder how I did all this and work. But I wasn't looking after my dad then. I didn't have a daughter with relationship issues then. I didn't have a mother in law who became a widow and turned to me to help her with everything technology related. Apparently I have 'help desk' stamped on my forehead. I didn't have time to do lots of things that have now made it onto my 'to do' list. But if you look at that list, everything on it is things I have to do for other people. Nothing for myself.
So my psychiatrist drew me a picture recently. It was not well drawn but you will get the gist. It was me, in a circle. Outside the circle were all the people in my life who had a call on my time and who i 'look after'. Three kids even though two are teenagers. One with a boyfriend who does not treat her well, one in his last year of school, and one with anxiety issues of his own. Spouse (another whole story). Dear old dad. Mother in law. Work colleagues I still mentor. Friends. Other relatives.
'Who looks after you' he asked me and I realised the answer was no one. No one except me and I SUCK at that because everyone else comes a long way ahead of me in the pecking order of people to look after. He asked me what I would do if I became seriously ill and I seriously thought I would have to leave home. I realised i had no faith that I would be looked after. I hope I never have to find out. But it's an important lesson.
So I get myself to the gym three times a week. I try not to get involved in things that are not my responsibility, eg 'mum where's my xxx', or other irritating things people in my house ask. I try and get the kids to do more for themselves I am not so available to my mother in law and have even delegated jobs for her to one of her three sons or two other daughters in law, in front of her hoping she gets the point. My dad is happy to wait for me to do things when convenient to me (actually he has always been that way the darling).
And every now and then I take a deep breath and remind myself of the wonderful theme of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel movie -everything will be alright in the end and if it is not alright then it is not the end.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I was just starting to both come to terms with this aspect of my health, having worked happily elsewhere for a couple of years and deciding to take a year off work, when my mother died suddenly and unexpectedly. And I am now assisting my dad who is on his own and ninety years old this year. So I worry ALL THE TIME. About him. What to cook him. My kids. Their future. My daughter's obnoxious boyfriend messing with her head. Money. Where my career is going. The dog. My ancient cat. Other people's children. Other people's health. Other people's children. My health. My weight. I worry about the fact that I worry ALL THE TIME.
I thought giving up work was going to be the answer to all my problems. You know, I was 'getting off the treadmill'. I had visions of myself reading my book by the pool (never done that), going to the beach for the day (did that once, feeling guilty all day), movies with girlfriends (again once, on my birthday), having a tidy home and generally being serene. That was my goal. Being serene. It has never happened. 'aah the serenity' i want to be able to say.
It's never going to happen. I'm just not that kind of person I guess.
Getting off the treadmill just meant that I got straight onto a cross trainer. Or a hamster wheel. I know I was efficient and organised when I was working but I look back and wonder how I did all this and work. But I wasn't looking after my dad then. I didn't have a daughter with relationship issues then. I didn't have a mother in law who became a widow and turned to me to help her with everything technology related. Apparently I have 'help desk' stamped on my forehead. I didn't have time to do lots of things that have now made it onto my 'to do' list. But if you look at that list, everything on it is things I have to do for other people. Nothing for myself.
So my psychiatrist drew me a picture recently. It was not well drawn but you will get the gist. It was me, in a circle. Outside the circle were all the people in my life who had a call on my time and who i 'look after'. Three kids even though two are teenagers. One with a boyfriend who does not treat her well, one in his last year of school, and one with anxiety issues of his own. Spouse (another whole story). Dear old dad. Mother in law. Work colleagues I still mentor. Friends. Other relatives.
'Who looks after you' he asked me and I realised the answer was no one. No one except me and I SUCK at that because everyone else comes a long way ahead of me in the pecking order of people to look after. He asked me what I would do if I became seriously ill and I seriously thought I would have to leave home. I realised i had no faith that I would be looked after. I hope I never have to find out. But it's an important lesson.
So I get myself to the gym three times a week. I try not to get involved in things that are not my responsibility, eg 'mum where's my xxx', or other irritating things people in my house ask. I try and get the kids to do more for themselves I am not so available to my mother in law and have even delegated jobs for her to one of her three sons or two other daughters in law, in front of her hoping she gets the point. My dad is happy to wait for me to do things when convenient to me (actually he has always been that way the darling).
And every now and then I take a deep breath and remind myself of the wonderful theme of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel movie -everything will be alright in the end and if it is not alright then it is not the end.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Friday, May 11, 2012
New mothers - trust your instincts
My eldest child recently turned nineteen. I don't know where those years went as I remember her babyhood so well. I read with great interest and an abnormal fascination, articles and blog posts about parenting. I may sound old but there was very little information about what to do with babies when I first became a mother - a few books and the 'clinic sisters', this strange breed of nurse funded by the government, who weighed your baby and gave gratuitous advice from time to time.
Of course the generation before mine had even less information. I feel sorry for new mothers today with what i think is information overload about what is 'best' for baby, with very little consideration for what is 'best' for their mothers. A happy mother AND baby is what is best.
I have been described as 'feisty'. Whether it is intended or not I always take this as a compliment. I like being decisive, particularly when it comes to decisions that affect me and my children, and sticking up for myself And instinct is a wonderful thing. Mums need to learn to trust this.
I chose to have c- sections for my first two children and was pretty much told I had no choice for the third. Fine with me. I have a pathological fear of pain and loss of control. Shoot me. They were all fine, I was fine and I clearly remember recognising their cries each time they were being wheeled down the corridor from the nursery. YES - the nursery. I had my babies taken away at night time so I could get some rest. On being told imperiously by some nurse that 'we encourage our new mothers to bond with their babies by rooming in' I made it very clear that I expected that over the next few days, weeks, months and years I fully expected to bond with my child. I was tsked tsked but remained firm. Sleep was needed. God knows I would get precious little of it once at home. And of course I bonded with each of them.
I was very lucky in that breast feeding was easy. No cracked nipples or mastitis for me. Babies latched on easily. Yet the longest I breast fed any of my children was 12 weeks.
Unlike this woman
My first baby, now 19, was 'perfect' in terms of her behaviour. She started sleeping through the night, 12 hours a night, at 6 weeks old. Of course I thought she was dead the first night I woke up with my boobs exploding. People, friends, were incredulous and frankly jealous, and looking back I was awfully smug. But this has a downside. Being so little she had to fit 6 feeds into 12 hours not 24. It was exhausting as all I seemed able to do during the day was feed her, change her, settle her, collapse exhausted while she slept for 30 minutes before it all started again.
Inevitably after a few weeks I found that by the end of the day there was not much milk left so I went and bought some bottles and formula to 'top up' at the end if the day. The clinic sister was horrified when i took baby in to be weighed and told her what was happening First, I hadn't consulted her. Bad mummy! Secondly, it was more important to breast feed my baby than sleep - she wanted me to either wake my healthy sleeping baby up to feed her in the middle of the night, or wake myself up to express milk to keep my supply coming in.
I was not about to start doing either of those things. Instinct. Trusted it and went with it. And she ended up fully bottle fed at 12 weeks. She is now at university.
There are many more examples but at the end of the day happy baby and happy mother are what's important. If your baby is hungry, it is ok to give them solids before 6 months. My last was having rice cereal at 12 weeks.
They all turned out ok and my sanity remained as intact as is possible with newborns
Trust your instincts mums - it will be worth it
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Of course the generation before mine had even less information. I feel sorry for new mothers today with what i think is information overload about what is 'best' for baby, with very little consideration for what is 'best' for their mothers. A happy mother AND baby is what is best.
I have been described as 'feisty'. Whether it is intended or not I always take this as a compliment. I like being decisive, particularly when it comes to decisions that affect me and my children, and sticking up for myself And instinct is a wonderful thing. Mums need to learn to trust this.
I chose to have c- sections for my first two children and was pretty much told I had no choice for the third. Fine with me. I have a pathological fear of pain and loss of control. Shoot me. They were all fine, I was fine and I clearly remember recognising their cries each time they were being wheeled down the corridor from the nursery. YES - the nursery. I had my babies taken away at night time so I could get some rest. On being told imperiously by some nurse that 'we encourage our new mothers to bond with their babies by rooming in' I made it very clear that I expected that over the next few days, weeks, months and years I fully expected to bond with my child. I was tsked tsked but remained firm. Sleep was needed. God knows I would get precious little of it once at home. And of course I bonded with each of them.
I was very lucky in that breast feeding was easy. No cracked nipples or mastitis for me. Babies latched on easily. Yet the longest I breast fed any of my children was 12 weeks.
Unlike this woman
My first baby, now 19, was 'perfect' in terms of her behaviour. She started sleeping through the night, 12 hours a night, at 6 weeks old. Of course I thought she was dead the first night I woke up with my boobs exploding. People, friends, were incredulous and frankly jealous, and looking back I was awfully smug. But this has a downside. Being so little she had to fit 6 feeds into 12 hours not 24. It was exhausting as all I seemed able to do during the day was feed her, change her, settle her, collapse exhausted while she slept for 30 minutes before it all started again.
Inevitably after a few weeks I found that by the end of the day there was not much milk left so I went and bought some bottles and formula to 'top up' at the end if the day. The clinic sister was horrified when i took baby in to be weighed and told her what was happening First, I hadn't consulted her. Bad mummy! Secondly, it was more important to breast feed my baby than sleep - she wanted me to either wake my healthy sleeping baby up to feed her in the middle of the night, or wake myself up to express milk to keep my supply coming in.
I was not about to start doing either of those things. Instinct. Trusted it and went with it. And she ended up fully bottle fed at 12 weeks. She is now at university.
There are many more examples but at the end of the day happy baby and happy mother are what's important. If your baby is hungry, it is ok to give them solids before 6 months. My last was having rice cereal at 12 weeks.
They all turned out ok and my sanity remained as intact as is possible with newborns
Trust your instincts mums - it will be worth it
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Before I go to bed...
Every night at about 9pm, I'm lying on the couch either watching sky news, or a real housewives or SVU episode I have recorded earlier.
Every night, I think I need to go to bed earlier because I wake up tired every morning.
Every night I lie on the couch willing myself to get up and go to bed and read one of the many books on my bedside table.
Often, I have my ancient cat curled up with me, but she is usually, sensibly, asleep already.
So by the time 10pm comes around, I am REALLY tired. So I get up to go to bed.
To do this I walk past the kitchen and put a few more dishes in the dishwasher. Then I fill the detergent holder with detergent and turn it on. Then I notice something else that needs to go in and open up the dishwasher squash it in and turn it back on.
Then I remember the dumb but gorgeous dog who I take outside to urinate (I trained him to do this on command - the neighbours love hearing me call out 'wee wee quickly' in that weird high pitched voice reserved by humans when speaking to their pets. The dumb but gorgeous dog has to find the perfect spot to go to the toilet so sometimes this takes quite a few minutes.
Then I think I'll put a load of washing on, programming the washing machine to come on at 5am so that it can be hung out first thing in the morning. This involves gathering up the detritus left by the children in their part of the house, rummaging through school bags for dirty socks. While rummaging I will invariably find a school note requiring me to fill out a permission slip, and write a cheque.
I will then turn off all the lights left on by the children, and lock the doors after programming the washing machine.
Then I go into the study to write that cheque and quickly check emails. Ten minutes later after trawling through 50 shopping alerts I will find the three relevant emails and deal with them, and turn the computer off.
I put my heat pack in the microwave for 2.5 minutes to put behind my aching neck while I go to sleep.
Finally I make it to the bathroom, clean my teeth and remember to take my anti anxiety medication. What I don't do, is wash my face and put on my expensive anti wrinkle serum and moisturiser. This could be the most important thing I should do.
Just as I climb into bed and turn the light off (no time now to read my book), I will hear The Lawyer coming into the bedroom, having just arisen from the couch, saying he is tired and might go to bed.
AMFYOYO
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Every night, I think I need to go to bed earlier because I wake up tired every morning.
Every night I lie on the couch willing myself to get up and go to bed and read one of the many books on my bedside table.
Often, I have my ancient cat curled up with me, but she is usually, sensibly, asleep already.
So by the time 10pm comes around, I am REALLY tired. So I get up to go to bed.
To do this I walk past the kitchen and put a few more dishes in the dishwasher. Then I fill the detergent holder with detergent and turn it on. Then I notice something else that needs to go in and open up the dishwasher squash it in and turn it back on.
Then I remember the dumb but gorgeous dog who I take outside to urinate (I trained him to do this on command - the neighbours love hearing me call out 'wee wee quickly' in that weird high pitched voice reserved by humans when speaking to their pets. The dumb but gorgeous dog has to find the perfect spot to go to the toilet so sometimes this takes quite a few minutes.
Then I think I'll put a load of washing on, programming the washing machine to come on at 5am so that it can be hung out first thing in the morning. This involves gathering up the detritus left by the children in their part of the house, rummaging through school bags for dirty socks. While rummaging I will invariably find a school note requiring me to fill out a permission slip, and write a cheque.
I will then turn off all the lights left on by the children, and lock the doors after programming the washing machine.
Then I go into the study to write that cheque and quickly check emails. Ten minutes later after trawling through 50 shopping alerts I will find the three relevant emails and deal with them, and turn the computer off.
I put my heat pack in the microwave for 2.5 minutes to put behind my aching neck while I go to sleep.
Finally I make it to the bathroom, clean my teeth and remember to take my anti anxiety medication. What I don't do, is wash my face and put on my expensive anti wrinkle serum and moisturiser. This could be the most important thing I should do.
Just as I climb into bed and turn the light off (no time now to read my book), I will hear The Lawyer coming into the bedroom, having just arisen from the couch, saying he is tired and might go to bed.
AMFYOYO
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Today, at the doctor...
So I finally went to the doctor today to find out that the disgusting pustule on my shoulder that appeared out of nowhere on the weekend was, in fact, impetigo, or in simple words, a school sore. I am 50 years old. And I have a school sore. I must have looked horrified because the lovely doctor said that it wasn't the Ebola virus, and could I please make an appointment to have a pap smear, for which I was due.
I left her office wondering about the word association involved in that sentence, and leaned over the desk, holding out anti bacterial gel, with my credit card, to pay the bill. The receptionist is a lovely young woman, about 20, who had just finished her afternoon tea. To her right was a plate with a tiger head in the middle of it. And around the edge of the plate the word 'Viagra' in cursive script, several times.
'Nice plate' I said. 'oh thanks', she said, 'you should see my bedroom, it's everywhere'.
I was a bit stunned by this. She must be dating much older men. And a lot of them. Either that or she must have been taking the free samples home for recreational purposes. The visual images in my head were going to make my brain explode. Perhaps I could get some too. Perhaps I could be introduced to some of her friends.
Without wanting to intrude (too much), I asked if she really needed it. She looked confused. 'The Viagra' I whispered. She opened her mouth, horrified. I pointed to the words on the plate. She turned purple with embarrassment. 'The tiger' she whispered back- 'I have lots of tiger themed things in my bedroom'.
And then we cracked up laughing. And had to explain to all the other office staff, and patients in the waiting room and everyone cracked up Every now and then you need a good belly laugh. Laughter really is the best medicine. But I still have my school sore.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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