Rowan. My little man.

Rowan was born on the 26th May. His due date was June 2nd, but because of my previous medical history, my doctors thought it best to induce a little early, which I was fine with. That, and the fact that I’m in no way a large person, so little Boyo’s expected weight was a little bit wee.

We’d already been into L&D on Monday of last week with unexpected contractions. They sent us home, after checking everything was ok saying that I might have a head start on their plans, but all was well.
I’d continues to have contractions, which were getting progressively stronger, up until 6am on Thursday morning… then they stopped completely.

I called L&D and they told me things to do to get him moving again so I had a hot shower, ate breakfast, drank cold things, jumped around (etc etc) and still nothing. Boyo was motionless. We packed my bags in the car once more and were on the road to the hospital by 8am, me silently sobbing the entire way.

Upon getting in there, I was strapped into a monitor and with the greatest sense of relief (and a flood of tears) heard his heart beat. After about an hour of laying there, I started to feel little kicks and jabs once more and then the contractions started up again.
The nurses and doctors were in agreement that it would be better if I was induced then and there.

I had the great fortune (Pffft, *not!*) of having the Cervidil inserted and then the waiting game was on. It was about 5 hours before the contractions began coming one on top of the other, and I began to lose feeling in my hands, feet and face.
Of course, anyone who begins to lose feeling while trying to get a baby out turns into this zen creature… don’t they?
No, they bloody well don’t.
Freaking out was a massive understatement.

They took me from the birth ward, to the one-on-one birth suit then and attempted to take the Cervidil out. Well, I can tell you that was the most painful thing I’ve ever been through. (And, I’ve been through open heart surgery!)
Apparently, amongst all the kerfuffle, my vagina, cervix and everything else had decided to close up shop and become excessively hyper-stimulated so the midwife who tried to get it Cervidil out had me literally screaming for the airlock, even with the gas. But, after two tries She got it out and was looking completely flustered told me that even though it had been in there for only 6 hours, it should’ve done something, but it didn’t. My cervix wasn’t playing ball.

So the contractions continued on top of each other, and Boyo’s heart beat decreased every time one came. I still had a monitor on so hearing that beeping slow down, and knowing what it meant was terrifying.
I was spoken to my several doctors who had all agreed that a Emergency C-Section was the safest bet to get him out safely.

The C-Section itself was fine, I was awake and my husband was next to me. Rowan popped out and the doctors immediately descended on him like vultures.
I got to see him as I was getting sewn up and kiss his little cute face. He was then whisked off and I told my husband to not let him out of His sight, so I didn’t see them again until I was in recovery.

Rowan was having trouble breathing so was put in the NICU for the first two days while I was ferried up and down to feed him and get some cuddle time. My husband spent the hours between being with me and going and snuggling Rowan when I needed to rest. Boyo was allowed to come to the ward about 48 hours after being born and remained with me until our escape from hospital.

That was 7 days ago, today.
One week, and one little man has changed my life so much that it’s unbelievable.



Rowan, I love you. For ever and a day.

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You make me happier and more content that I have ever felt before.
I will do everything I can to keep you safe, happy and smiling for as long as I can. 

What constitutes personal growth?

There is no formula to tell you whether you’re doing it right. Everyone has different goals, priorities and wanted outcomes – some people, like myself, don’t even know what most of those goals are  until they’re smacking them in the face.
We’re all hung up on someone else’s idea of what personal growth should be; be it a friend, family member or co-worker. We strive to define ourselves according to their wishes and goals; and when that’s done, we sit there feeling empty and withdrawn and being ridiculously proud of achieving absolutely nothing.

Self-knowledge and in fact, self-awareness are key  to maintaining a sense of structure in our minds. We must realise that the values of others are no less meaningful than our own, it’s just that we can’t do anything about them. Ours, we can. We have the ability to keep going with a situation, or terminate it at it’s source and start a new. These actions are very subjective in different situations and we cannot pretend like we’re going to get everything right, all the time. Most of the time, we’re going to fail miserably and have to start all over again until we get it right.

The constant rationalization of our own behaviour will, in turn, allow us to see that of others and find out what it means. If we’re doing something because we’re happy/hurt/sad/etc,  we can then turn around and notice it in others.

(I’m definitely letting my inner INFJ out today…)

 

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Competitive Energy & Smiling clowns

Competition: It can be a great thing, or a terrible thing. Especially when it happens to fall between friends. Over certain things like relationships, or silly things like what colour shoes they’re wearing that day.

Having a competitive energy with anyone can honestly be a great driving force for you to do better, do more or be greater than you were before. It can be terrific for you and them, to have someone by your side that you can lean on and challenge and then get the same back from them.

But sometimes, when things get in the way of this kind of relationship – things can start falling apart.  If one side of the partnership suddenly starts showing weakness – be it in any scenario – the other side tries to over-compensate to make up for that loss of momentum. The weakness might not be meant as such but can ultimately be seen by the other party as a non-commitment, not caring any longer or even giving up entirely.

This is where communication is key to understanding and reacting correctly to such events, in relationships with everyone. It doesn’t matter what kind of relationship you think  you have, it’ll always be different if you don’t share your concerns with the other party because you will always see things differently to someone else, even if you’re looking at the same object. Communicating these differences is key to successfully navigating the up’s and down’s of any relationship, and figuring out where you stand.
If you take one side of the story and run with it, chances are you’ll end up only finding out bits and pieces of it without ever knowing the whole thing. The same can be said for sharing information with another person; people aren’t mind readers. They can’t always know what you mean by a look or a smile.


It’s safe to say that any time you feel hard done by, there is always someone out there doing worse that you. 
I’ve lived by this quote for the entirety of my existence.

Tonight, I was reminded of it from something my husband said. And, for the first time in a while, I wished that everyone else in the world could understand every nuance of my personality, so they’d stop believing that I have it all. 
I, most certainly, do not have it all. I don’t even have a small chuck of it. 
But honestly; I don’t want it.

I’m happy with how I’ve gotten to where I am today. I’m glad for my struggles, and heartache. Each and every one of them have made me the person I am right this second, and they will not stop changing me until the day I die. I’m not afraid to tell the truth, and not afraid to get burned for it. I’ve been to deaths door step, given him the finger and turned around more times than you could count, but somehow I manage to put a smile on my face each morning.

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Get Out… Please

Dear Beloved Spawn,

I love you to bits and always will. But the fact of the matter is that, like Your father, are to damn long.
You can no longer fit in my tinsy uterus. You keep kicking organs that have only been doing their job, and bones that have been holding Us together for the last 8.95 months.

Please get out.
Come out into this cold and unbalanced word already. It needs you to bring it a little more proverbial sunshine and a little less proverbial rain.
That.. and poop. Of course. Because, why the hell not.

Sincerely,
Your (tired) Mumma

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Why do I still do this?

The other day, a friend of mine asked me, “Why do you still blog?”

I started blogging in early high school as a project for a class. That was close to 10 years ago, and even though ever minute hasn’t been recorded and there are some years when I didn’t write anything down – I still value the amount of writing that I have done.

I’m the kind of person to re-read my old posts and remember things, or laugh out loud at something that was said 3 years ago. My memory of events, times and people is most certainly not perfect, so I try not to trivialise the times when I need  to write things  down.
Most of the people that I know, realise that I’m not the most normal human being around. I don’t like to gossip or bitch, even though I’m female; my nights are spent with myself most of the time, or my husband;  I have never liked going out and doing what is normal for girls.
That’s not my normal.

I like books, rain, hugs and silence. I don’t care if you’ve got a shiny new car and revel in the  fact that you now have a big house. If you’re a kind and decent person,then  I have time for you. If you have strange ideas about the world, history, literature and philosophy and don’t mind getting into somewhat stupid arguments over the reason for breaking spaghetti noddles in half before cooking them; then You and I should talk!

It’s stupid, but we all do it.
As soon as there is a little hint of difference in a person, that doesn’t mesh well with our ideal theory of what a person should be, then they’re suddenly turned into this thing. Not a person any more but this time wasting, good for nothing, thing.

I blog/write to let those thoughts and feelings out. They wouldn’t get a mention in the norm of every day society and sometimes, not even in my own head. Other things become more important than them, until they soak back into my subconscious, never to be seen again.  People have chosen not to appreciate my strange satire and witty comments, just like they have also chosen not to like the colour blue or the taste of mushrooms. So therefore, I’ve chosen not to show them off much. The blue mushrooms of my mind hardly get a taste of freedom, except for every now and again.

I write so I don’t yell.
I write to remind myself of the sanctity of the written word and how many different moral fights it can fight.
I write for the benefit of myself.
I write for the people who read what I write.
I write to let my guard down once in a while.
I write to better understand the thoughts in my head and make better decisions.

I write because I have something to say.

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Bigger than Ben Hur …

The bump and I have gotten to the stage of unending complaining (He more punching, than complaining…) and realising that nothing, I repeat,  nothing  fits.
Well, I exaggerate a little. Things do still fit, but my comfort level when wearing them is down to an all time low. So currently I’m living in undies, the husbands t-shirts, and any bed clothes than happen to get un-tucked generally come with me for the entire day.
I’m not ashamed to say it, bed clothes are more comfortable to wear than actual people clothes at the moment!

In saying that, I’m not really going anywhere much that requires more clothes than that, so thats a good thing. Except, I’ve got a dinner that I have to attend next week. It’s not a some pearls-and-long-dresses-fancy dinner, but I’ll try to untangle myself from the bed clothes and put something on that would be a little more respectable, when in actual people-company.

The nursery is done and some good friends recently spoiled bubs with a bunch of toys and teething things. We’re still flummoxed with a name though. Every name that gets put on the list is met with a resounding …Meh.
They’re good names, but we don’t yet have anything that makes us stamp our feet with happiness. That, and whenever one of us suggests a name – there is about a 5 second interval where the other person is reviewing their memory banks in order to find out if they knew/know someone with that name, and how worthy they are.

Usually it ends in,
‘Nope. My 5th grade friend/boyfriend had that name….He was a dick.’

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