2017

Ahh…It’s been a while. 

It’s unbelievable how much you think you know about life, when you actually couldn’t be more wrong. You grow up with every second that passes. Every breath is one less that you have to breathe. 

The last 8 months has been a roller coaster; physically, emotionally and metaphorically. I’ve been mentally ripped apart and am tediously putting myself back together while trying to keep my family smiling. Some weeks life is working for me but some weeks it’s shattering over and over, and I’m standing in the shards of glass with gumboots on. 

My Son is growing up, He’s almost 8 months old, crawling and trying to walk. He becoming a little charmer with the sweetest smile. He’s long and lanky like his Dad, and thinks that our dogs are the greatest thing in the world.

I’ve lost my pregnancy weight, as well as most of my hair. Well, not really but it’s gone through a few chops to become the new short and funky  ‘Mumma’ cut  that I’ve got now. 

I’ve made friends that will hopefully be in my life for a very long time but also have lost people that I will no doubt think about for years to come. 

I’m becoming a lover of midday TV and it’s renovation shows, while struggling with Rowan’s favorite food of the day being plastered on the walls (today it’s sweet potato…) Piling clean washing ontop of dirty, and crying Everytime I walk past my kitchen. 

But, I can say with perfect insanity that I am doing my best. ❤

It takes a village to raise a Mum.

I’m a lonesome but generally happy person, I’ll admit. I rattle around in my house, with my dogs, cats (and now) baby; doing things to keep me mentally stimulated (be that sometimes watching endless episodes of Star Trek while Rowan naps beside me…).
When my husband comes home from a day of work, all he’s after is a beer, dinner and a minute the be silent. Unfortunately, I don’t give him that option.
I’m handing off the child; ordering him about the place to feed the dogs; then to come and watch the boyo while I go and have my daily allotment of a half-hour shower.

We’ve spoken about my resistance to broadening my social horizons before, and while the ideas we come up with are great, when it comes time to enact them… I’m less than willing.
I’m a happy, lonesome person most of the time. Some of the time though, I wake up and instantly know that if I don’t remove myself from the four walls that is my home and see some people, I’ll murder someone.

It takes a village to raise a child.

I don’t necessarily have that village and I don’t think it’s the child that needs raising, in this instance…
I wasn’t raised by a village, community or even two people. I was raised by one person, and half the time She had to work to keep us alive. I don’t attribute all of how I am to that, but it makes up a large part of it. I don’t want my Son to feel that life is, in any way. I want my Son to be able to reach out with one finger and find the friendships and support that was never offered to me.
I’ve recently realised and partially resented the fact that I’m after that large, ‘familial’ presence, but have no idea how to get it.

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My husbands family has been great these last few weeks, dropping in and taking the squalling boyo off my hands so I can have a cuppa and 10 minutes of adult conversation. But as amazing as they are… they have their own lives to live and eventually have to go back to them. I have yet to try and capture one of them and have them live in my basement though… Possibly not the best course of action if I want an actual proper relationship with them.

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10 things I’ve learned in 2 months of Mum-ing

  1. Why can’t dummies (pacifiers) have tracking nodes in them?
  2. Breast feeding is ultimately the need for a child and a food truck attached to you, at all times
  3. Metamucil: the new mothers best friend.
  4. ‘Nice clothes’are a thing of the past. It’s either Clothes-that-have-been-vomited/pee’d-on Or Clothes-that-are-about-to-be-vomited/pee’d-on. 
  5. The laundry will be done every day, or the child will be dressed in towels.
  6. You will never get a full night of sleep again. Ever.  (If you do, there is either a baby sitter … or a problem.)
  7. Watch out for the pee-stream. It’ll take you completely by surprise. They’re clean, dry and you’ve almost got the fresh nappy out when BAM …  There is a fucking waterfall thats going sideways across the room.
    …10 points if it hits the opposite wall.
  8. I’ve learned to speed eat. I can clear a plate of spaghetti bolognese in 2 minutes.
  9. If he’s crying and you’re anywhere near me, shut up and sit down. You’re no longer the focus of my attention and if you continue to speak as if you are, you’ll get a wet nappy in the face.
  10. I’ve learned to live with the sight of half drunk, cold cups of tea & coffee around my house.

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2 months old today!

 

Do Not Lower Your Expectations.

I’ve been reading a blog post entitled “Lower Your Expectations.”
In a nut shell, it talks about the growing number of young people (19-26y/o) who come out of home/university etc and expect too much. They expect to be able to afford food, travel and drinks that week; and how that is fundamentally stupid.

I beg to differ.

I’m Sorry, but if I didn’t expect to be able to achieve the things that I did, I never would’ve gotten to where I am today. Expectations are the reality of the world; although sometimes people expect way too much and ultimately do fail. But, if they didn’t learn how to achieve their expectations instead of dreaming them away, they never would get to where they want to be.

(Note: I say this about most people. Some people have their expectations so flipping high, that there is no possible way they will ever meet or exceed them. They exceed the expectation of stupidity…)

Whatever outcome you look at, there is a way to achieve it without having to lower your Expectations. If you look at things realistically, you shouldn’t have a problem.

I’ve been poor. I’ve been so fucking poor that in the past, I had to plan out which meals I could in fact eat and which I simply couldn’t afford to eat. But while doing that, my expectations were still there. Just because I couldn’t eat lunch that day, doesn’t mean that in two years I wasn’t going to move house/buy a car/graduate uni with honours … etc.

Expectations are the result of hard work and determination. They allow you to gather information and surmise what that information will do for you. They allow you to see things/people for what they really are and act accordingly without the though of what if’s.

Expectations are not just an irritating person you can forget about if they don’t like your new boyfriend (for example) – if they were; Expectations would tell you that your boyfriend is a piece of shit; and after you blow Expectations off … low and behold, that’s what he’d turn out to be.   Well, lookie here! Expectations were right… That’s a complete and utter surprise… (cough cough)


Expectations; 
1. What one thinks will happen in the future.
2. What one wants to happen in the future.

…The only word known to be both a synonym and antonym to itself, because an optimist will expect their expectations to be met, while a pessimist will not expect their expectations to be met.

Expectations are a hard bastard, but one that you need to ultimately have in your pocket to live a fulfilling and positive life.

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“Parent” = Me?

Becoming a parent is an odd concept. Not only are you taking your genetic material, smashing it into someone else’s and basically cooking it for approximately 9 months … but you’re happily awaiting this abrupt chance of situation with bated breath.

I’m sitting here with my almost-cold-tea, typing things on my half working laptop with my 6 week old son strapped to my chest, because apparently the bassinet that we spent $300 on just isn’t good enough to nap in. Neither is any other flat bed-like surface in this house, beside his rocker which, in order to be used for said naps, must be placed; on top of the kitchen counter when I’m making dinner or; on the floor in my bathroom when I’m taking a shower.
He goes all trippy when he hears running water and just stares at things. I think his eyeballs are going to dry out… but he’s not screaming blue murder, so thats a good thing!

My back feels like it’s been broken and stuck back together with pre-used doubled sided sticky tape – meaning it’s still tacky but not going to hold together much longer! I’ve spent a good portion of the last hour wrangling with my Son’s hands to try and trim (bite) his nails while feeding him because holy crap, babies finger nails are like daggers!

I’m still attempting to be a relatively busy person, even though I’ve not changed from pyjamas in 6 weeks, unless we’re going somewhere… and then It’s leggings, shirt and snow boots because I had someones hand in my gutsshut your face.

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I never really thought much of the hard times, when I was dreaming of the kids I’d have. It was all lovely thoughts of  smiling faces and hugs. Little did I know, the smiling faces and hugs were really 48hrs with no shower in sight, and squalling tantrums at 2am because he just pee’d through his 3rd nappy of the night. Glamorous.

Being a Mum is not, I repeat, Not glamorous in the least. It’s Real. Painful. Tiring.
You turn into this monster where you both want to put your child on a bus with a sign, Free to good home; and also kill anyone within a twelve km radius that coughs in his general direction.

I’m an angry person. I’m not afraid to say that. I have a whopping great temper which pops its head up now and again to wreak havoc with whatever it feels is necessary to accomplish its mission of ultimate destruction. But, I’m working out that in order to be the best Mum possible and bring up my Son in a loving, caring and positive environment … I’m having to swallow my thoughts of stabbing people and calm the fuck down. 
Which means, at 2am when the child-squalling happens, I can’t (any longer) start stomping around the house barefoot, raging about my husband’s lack of support (while he’s literally holding the baby and asking me if I’d like to continue sleeping while he takes over feeding the baby… So scratch that, Oh bitch-of-the-world!)

Except when it comes to protecting my Son… My husband call’s me Mamma Bear for a reason, you know.

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Instead, I held you.

Today, I have seen the last of my patients. It’s run away on a plume of wet wipes and vomit. I have been trying to calm myself and lock away my anger. It’s been working; just.
But, as you fell asleep on my chest and sighed on of your little ‘I’m going to sleep now, Ma’ sighs … I stopped fussing.
I want to get the house tidy today. I want to unload the dishwasher, put some washing on, sweep the floor & brush the dogs. Fold some laundry from the dining table, Make myself some lunch and actually finish a cup of tea!

(Seriously… I’m looking around me and I can see three cups of half drunk cold tea, and I know there are more upstairs!)

As I looked at your little squidgy face,  I realised that all I really wanted to do was hold you.
Because you won’t be so small forever. You wont be so hugable. You won’t always have knuckle dimples, or that amazing baby smell. Your eyes won’t always be so huge and your skin so soft.

You’re already almost 6 weeks old. You’ve gotten so big, so fast. The amount of clothes you no longer fit is astonishing. You’re hair is growing, your movements are getting better and all the while … I’ve wanted to put you down?

I was holding onto the life I had before you were in it.
The life of Just Me.
Well… I’m doing that, no longer.

As you dream your dreams, I’ll be there. Ready to hold you close, or chase away the nightmares. To feel you kick and squirm your way through sleep to wake up and see you looking at me with those big blue eyes. ❤

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Rowan Report: Week 2

It’s been a rough two weeks, sleep wise. This bub has his internal clock well and truly backwards. Right now, it’s 10am and he’s snoozing soundly beside me. This time last night, he was wide awake and ready to take on the world.

I’m also researching baby carriers and slings because once He’s awake, he likes nothing better than to be snuggled up close to Me or His Dad; which is so stinking sweet … until the smell of poop rises from your lap and you wonder what you did to deserve it.

He’s grown a few cm’s already. That doesn’t surprise me in the least, seeing as though his Dad is the height of Michael Jordan wearing high heels. He’s gotten past his birth weight in two weeks and he’s even got his first dose of hormonal milk pimples! (My fault, Sorry little bud.)
He also got his first bath and we didn’t drown him! I took him in the shower with me earlier in the week, after an unfortunate Poonami (Poo-Tsunami) occurred and I didn’t have a third hand to open the new pack of wipes… now that I think about it, I’m not too sure that the wipes would’ve been enough anyway, unless they were infused with caustic soda…

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