Reflections of motherhood

This brought me to tears this morning. Women have a shared experience when they embark on the journey of motherhood.

Babies turn your world upside-down and inside-out, in a wonderful, but at times frustrating way. I would have said to my 23 year old, pregnant self, "Enjoy just being still. Be quiet and calm all day."

What advise would you have given your pregnant self?

It's not you, it's me.

I ended my relationship on the weekend. I'm still pretty sensitive about it. It's grief I suppose. It was a really special relationship. I know I'll never have a relationship like it again. I just wasn't getting all my needs met anymore. It was fine in the beginning, but we were both different then. It worked really well for quite some time actually; for more than fourteen months. But it's time to move on. It was the best move for both of us. Really. It was. I was the initiator. He resisted at first, but in the end I think he's realised that it's for the best. We'll always have that special bond, and I'll cherish it, I really will. I just got to the point where I wanted more.

That's right. I stopped breastfeeding J-Man on Friday night. Well actually it was Thursday night, but I didn't realise that at the time. Maybe I would have made it a little more ceremonious if I'd known at the time that I was feeding him for the very last time. I probably would have treasured that last precious feed. Just the two of us awake in the night while the rest of the world slept. His chubby little hand resting on my chest. His downy head nestled into the nook of my elbow. Enjoying those cosy cuddles that only the two of us could give each other. But instead, with no warning, I just stopped. I was feeling good, like we could handle the change, and just did it.

You see, I'd already stopped offering him breastfeeds during the day. I only fed him during the night when he woke up - it was just such an easy way to get him back to sleep. But it was becoming a problem for me, as it was very limiting and demanding on just me. I'd never introduced a dummy, or a bottle to him (which was my personal preference) so when he woke at night, all he wanted was booby milk. More specifically; his mummy's booby milk. As you may imagine, this is a lovely feeling for a mum, being wanted and needed so much. I was fine to do this for the fourteen months that I did, but like I said, it was time to move on - I wasn't getting my needs met anymore. Things like dinner dates out with my husband, nights out with friends, or weekends away to rejuvenate myself, even an evening exercise program was a logistical nightmare. Most of the time I labeled them 'impossible' and avoided those situations - at my own expense. But that was OK. I am his mother, and was always happy to make that sacrifice. For a time. Now I'm happy for him to become less dependent on me, and will encourage him to be settled by others. This is a necessity for my own sanity, and for his own resilience. I'm also hoping that it will encourage an improvement in his night waking (and my fatigue) as there's one less reason for him to wake through the night.

In the meantime, I'm more tired than usual (yes, it's possible) as instead of a cosy, snuggly breastfeeding cuddle where I dose off to sleep as he does his thing, I now have to actually wake up and actively help sweet little J-Man get back to sleep. Although, I'm not thinking 'sweet little J-Man' at 2am when I'm trying to convince him that sleep is the way to go. He's like an over-tired toddler, tantrumming on the floor at the supermarket, demanding a Kinder Surprise. Hang on, that sounds like Miss E! OK, J-Man mimics his sister's tantrums in the middle of the night. You see he's tired, and doesn't want to be awake, but I haven't taught him the skills yet to lull himself to sleep on his own. So I hold him in my arms until he calms, then pat him gently until he nods off. This can be a 5 minute or a 30 minute process (and possibly more). It is a tiring ritual, but it's the gentler approach, which is the way I like to parent.

So now that I've packed away the maternity bras for now (possibly forever), I'm looking forward to a date with some Sangria and my patient husband. I'm also champing at the bit to enjoy some wine and live music with my friends, and not worry about the alcohol content contaminating my breast milk. I've got two weekends away booked - one solo trip, and one with Mr D. I cannot emphasis enough how much I'm looking forward to this time away from my adoring, but very demanding children. Just try to imagine me doing a little jig on the spot, grinning from ear-to-ear with excitement. I suppose the only down side of giving up the boob, is that I now have no more excuses as to why I can't exercise... hmmm. Better start thinking of some.

There's nothing romantic about the hours I keep

How much do you know about babies? Everything? Nothing? Maybe you grew up in a big family, and there was at least one baby always around. Maybe your sister-in-law has a baby (I wish) and you pick up some tips from her. Maybe you’re like I was before I had kids, and know next to no babies, getting to cuddle or play with a little cherub almost never. Or maybe you’re like I am now, and live and breathe babies.

Before I had my kidlets there were lots of things I didn’t know about babies. And there were also things I just couldn’t get my head around. I didn’t help my cause either, as when I was pregnant with my first bub, I read every book on pregnancy and birth that I could get my hands on, but skimmed through one or two books on looking after the actual baby that I was incubating. I just figured I’d learn on the job, and follow my instinct, which of course I did. Eventually. I was so focused on the marvellous experience of my pregnancy, and preparing myself for that incredible day (or days) that most women clench their pelvic floors in unison at the thought of; childbirth.

So I went into the parenting experience relatively blindly. I was fooled by such common expressions as, “I slept like a baby”. This crazy phrase for a good night sleep is clearly uttered by a person who does not have a child (well none of my children anyway!).There are other commonplace misconceptions about looking after babies that led me into a false sense of security. You only have to watch a nappy commercial to be subjected to them. Whilst counting down the days until our baby's arrival, I would lovingly caress my rotund belly and look longingly at the cot in our baby’s nursery, dreaming of the days to come. I dreamt of the tiny newborn calmly gazing upon my maternal face for hours on end. The relaxing, tender bathtimes, with sleep-inducing shampoos. The intoxicating cuddles. And I dreamt of watching the innocent, sleeping face of my little cherub, waiting patiently for them to awaken so I could nurse them again. Ha! What dreams these were! I had been fooled by the clever advertising of baby products, and had no idea that these moments I envisaged were mere snapshots of a much bigger and more overwhelming experience.

In my experience, one of the hardest realities of having a baby was the issue of sleep. More specifically; that sleep didn’t happen spontaneously or instantaneously. My babies liked lots of help to get to sleep. Sleep became the main focus in my day - my babies needed to have so much of it, and I seemed to be getting so little of it (and still do). While this was my reality when I broke out of those golden nappy commercial moments, other parents have different realities. For some people, their issue is breastfeeding. Not being able to successfully breastfeed their baby might leave them feeling deflated and redundant when they resort to bottled formula. Others deal with a ‘reflux baby’ and the incessant painful crying of their precious, aching child. In some cases, parents might deal with all three realities, and more. It's much harder to sell nappies with this advertising material!

So as I embarked upon my first day as a parent, unaware of the realities that may lie ahead, and exhausted after my mammoth 60 hour labour (more on this another time) I made my first parenting choice. I chose to follow my instincts. This instinct was later corroborated for me by two amazing parenting authors, Pinky McKay, Elizabeth Pantley, who both endorse a very gentle, instinctual approach to caring for a baby. I refer to it as parenting from the heart.

I first followed my instinct when out of the womb came my baby girl, and I held her straight to my chest where she immediately breastfed. I held her from birth, never wanting to put her down. I would watch her as she slept peacefully in my arms, feeling her breath against my chest, hypnotised by the rise and fall of her tiny chest. When I couldn’t nurse her in my arms I would wear her, snuggled up in her hug-a-bub. I’d wear her all day sometimes, curled up listening to my heartbeat. If she cried I picked her up and rocked her. If she woke during the night I went to comfort her - straight away to reassure her, touch her, soothe her. I let her sleep in my bed, let her fall asleep while suckling, and helped her go to sleep whenever she showed me she wanted to. But most of all, I never ever let her cry.

Over-the-top, you say? Spoiling even? Or is it perfectly natural?

Either way, these are the parenting choices I made. I was following my maternal instinct to protect and nurture my little baby. Although this instinct gave me confidence and reassurance, this instinct also led me to parent in such a way that affected the way my children sleep, which in turn effects how I sleep now - appallingly. You see, nurturing babies in this way is not conducive to an unbroken night's sleep (in my experience) because they don't learn how to self-settle - to fall asleep without your help. So here I am with a fourteen month old toddler who wakes sometimes six times between 7pm and 7am. That’s on a bad night. On a really good night he only wakes once. But I guess the news isn’t all bad, because my angel daughter, at close to three years of age sleeps through the night five nights out of seven. I honestly have grown accustomed to making the most of the little sleep I get. That's not to say that I cannot wait for beautiful, sleep-filled nights and fresh, voluntary morning awakenings.

I could talk endlessly about sleep and parenting styles, but in the end we all must do what we’re comfortable to do in order to survive and enjoy some very precious, yet tedious days. Having been judged and ostracised for the parenting choices I have made, all I can add is some simple advice. Support the mothers (and fathers) in your life. Don’t distance them because of the choices they make in their parenting. They are doing what they believe is best for their child/ren. It’s an isolating time in their very demanding world, which is hard enough. Maybe make them some cupcakes. I know a good recipe.
 

Did someone say 'cupcake'?

I like baking. I like baking cupcakes. I like the methodical process, I like licking the bowl, and I like decorating them fresh out of the oven. Best of all, I like sharing them with friends. 

Miss E likes baking too, and best of all, she loves baking treats with me. No. Best of all she likes testing the ingredients, and contaminating the batter with her sticky fingers. She tested the self-raising flour yesterday, and decided that she prefers brown sugar (good girl, I say). 

Baking is a good, fun (messy) activity that we can do together. I've got to admit that there's some childhood games that I find rather boring and often avoid, but when it comes to baking, I’m happy to oblige – especially when there’s such a sweet reward at the end of the process. Big Bro and I bonded over baking back when he was smaller. Now he's more interested in just eating the finished product, and obsessively watching the Terminator movies in the meantime. Back in the day though, his favourite part was doing the sifting.

Miss E tests to see if the icing sugar is up to scratch.

Miss E supervises while I do some serious sifting...

And now she tests the finished product. Mmmm. Frosting. Gotta love licking the beaters.

Just a word of warning: if you’re going to attempt baking from scratch with a small child, please be in a calm frame of mind. If you’re edgy or not prepared for mess, then don’t bother. You’ll spoil the experience for both of you. Trust me, I’ve been there.

My favourite cupcake recipe at the moment is a banana, white chocolate and sour cream cake, with cream cheese frosting. It’s always a winner with my friends and is super easy to throw together.

Banana and white chocolate sour cream cake

90g butter, softened

½ cup (110g) firmly packed brown sugar

2 eggs

½ cup (75g) self-raising flour

½ cup (75g) plain flour

½ teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

1 teaspoon mixed spice

1 teaspoon cinnamon

2 mashed overripe bananas

1 cup (100g) white chocolate bits

1/3 cup (80g) sour cream

2 tablespoons milk

1. Preheat oven to moderate. Prepare12-hole standard muffin pan with paper cases. (You could do mini muffins if you have this type of pan. They make perfect-sized muffins for small people who don’t want too much of a sugar hit.)
2. Beat butter, sugar and eggs in small bowl with electric mixer until light and fluffy.
3. Stir in sifted dry ingredients, then banana, chocolate, cream and milk.
4. Divide mixture evenly among cases.
5. Bake about 25 minutes. Leave to cool while you make the frosting.

Cream cheese frosting

30g butter, softened

80g cream cheese, softened

1 ½ cups (240g) icing sugar

Food colouring and sprinkles – just for fun

1. Beat butter and cheese in small bowl with electric mixer until light and fluffy.
2. Gradually beat in sifted icing sugar.
3. Tint with food colouring for decided colour
4. Spread over cooled cupcakes and decorate with sprinkles.

 

 

These are also super yummy when they’re eaten warm and quickly spread with the frosting before gobbling them up. Guaranteed to be a hit. Good luck with cleaning up the kitchen! Let me know what you think.

Also, a super shout-out to two awesome super mums - my cousins, Mrs D and Mrs A. You both are amazing mothers and are an inspiration to me - more than you know xxx

Don't call me Tonia

It's my birthday this week. So as is the new tradition in our family, we hung up our birthday flags in the family room. This little ritual started with J-Man's first birthday. His birthday is the week before Christmas and I wanted there to be a visual distinction between his birthday celebrations and our Christmas celebrations. We set up our Christmas tree and decorations from December 1st, so by the time his birthday rolls around, the house is looking very festive, and it's easy to lose the emphasis of his birthday amidst the Christmas cheer. So since I was partly responsible for the poor child being born 8 days before Christmas Day (hey, it wasn't my fault he was two weeks overdue), the least I could do was make some birthday flags for us to hang. We now use them to mark the week of each of our birthdays.

 We chose different fabrics to depict each individual in our family. We also picked some extra fabrics that would piece together to resemble the colours of the rainbow. Now I have the flexibility during the day to do such tasks as sewing, I enjoyed using this creative outlet. I used Purl Bee for inspiration, but used creative licence to do my own thing.

J-Man's cute and colourful, froggy flag.

Big Bro's Bart flag - complete with mischievous "I didn't do it" quotes.

My cheery, sunshine flag. I thought it looked summery - my favourite time of year.

Mr D's denim flag. Simple. Tough. Understated.

Miss E's pretty, purple, strawberry flag - she chose this one especially.

It's nice to have a bit of fun with birthdays even when you're a 'grown up'. They lose their edge as we get older, don't they? Especially when we're not too pleased about growing an extra year! Children certainly help to make them exciting again. Miss E has decided I need to bake a 'monster' cake for my birthday cake. I wouldn't mind a Mars Bar Cheesecake myself, but I can see that a Monster Cake would be more exciting for her. I will keep you posted if that one eventuates. I'm sure it will involve a late night of cake decorating and bowl-licking.

Oh, and just for the record, the making of these flags was not without torment. I'm no Tonia Todman or Martha Stewart! After a number of tantrums (from me this time, not Miss E) and phone calls to my very talented grandmother, I was back on track, and was Janome Queen for a time. Of course, my little cherubs didn't appreciate me sewing instead of playing with them during the day. So, I sacrificed sleep to be able to make this, and also relinquished highly sought-after bludge-time on the lounge. I don't think the washing got folded for a week either. Or maybe it just stayed hanging on the line.

Now, what was that about bludging on the lounge...? And I need a Tim Tam!

A guilty pleasure?

What makes you feel guilty? Nothing? Everything? Maybe you get child’s guilt, when you ignore your parent’s inconvenient phone call. Maybe you get grandchild’s guilt when you don’t visit your dear grandmother for a cuppa as often as you probably should. Maybe you get partner’s guilt, when you fake a headache to avoid sex (or fake worse).

I feel mother’s guilt. I get it when I’m frustrated, and snap at my kids instead of being calm and supportive. I get it when I’m bored of children’s games, and let my kids watch TV instead of engaging them in a learning activity. I get it when I’m exhausted, and feed them fish fingers for dinner, instead of cooking something fresh and more nutritious. And I get it when I leave them in the car while I go for a punt for hours at the casino. KIDDING! But I get it a lot. I even feel guilty when I don’t feel guiltier! Like in the case of my little J-Man recently starting daycare.

You see, I’ve just started working part-time again for our business. This is the first time I’ve worked in an organised capacity since J-Man was born 14 months ago. It’s great. Instead of squeezing in email replies in-between dinner and bath time, or bank reconciliations during naptime, I get two whole days a week to work. To work my other job that is. The one that doesn’t involve changing terrible poo nappies. The job where negotiating with a toddler on the borderline of a tantrum is not in the job description. And the job that doesn’t involve me talking in a slow, high-pitched, and well-articulated voice. I’m talking about my job that lets me complete a long list of tasks, uninterrupted. The job where I interact with grown-ups and sums, and staplers, and software. I love it. It’s empowering, rewarding, and fun. But I miss my kids. Because they too are rewarding and fun. By the end of my day, after enjoying such precious child-free time, and cooking the books for our business, I long for my little people. And I feel guilt. Terrible mother’s guilt. Guilt for abandoning them. Guilt for leaving them neglected and unloved in a childcare centre (this is my irrational mother’s guilt speaking). And guilt for loving every minute of my child-free day.

So J-Man just started at our cute and caring local childcare centre. But his reaction during his first weeks has not helped alleviate my guilt at all. His face. His adorable, unsuspecting face, with his big, blue eyes and curious expression, turns into a twisted, agonised, and devastated picture of sadness as he realises I’m leaving him. Big, blobs of salty tears pour down his cheeks. And then there’s his heart-breaking cry as I wave goodbye and blow him a kiss in a last-ditched attempt to comfort his torment. Big, tearful wails desperately erupt out his mouth, and he turns a ghastly shade of crimson. His out-stretched arm and grasping fingers beg me not to leave him in this new, scary place. As you can imagine, it tugs on the heart-strings. Just a little! But I push on, lured by the freedom that waits on the other side of the child-proof gate.

And then I read headings like “Early childcare is not good for boys”, which further reinforces my guilt. I foolishly choose to read on, and find passages in this otherwise awesome book (Raising Boys: Why Boys Are Different - and How to Help Them Become Happy and Well-Balanced Men) like, “Many studies have shown that boys are more prone than girls to separation anxiety and to be becoming emotionally shut down as a result of feeling abandoned (at daycare).” Great. I’m an awesome mum. I’m setting my kid up to be an emotional cripple! 

So, not surprisingly, I compensate for my guilt. When I pick the kids up in the afternoon we hang out together. The TV stays off (for a time) and there may or may not be some non-nutritious chocolate treats shared. I feel recharged, and liberated after my child-free day, and feel happy and relaxed after a day without their demands. So what do we do, you ask? We go to Officeworks and the beach off course. Well, we did on Wednesday afternoon anyway. Check us out.

Miss E bounces down the ramp, with her 'big girl' backpack on. We're playing 'Follow the Leader'.

J-Man is all smiles now he's with his Mumma again. He's buckled up, ready to go off for our afternoon together.

 

Heading down the highway...

 

"Hold on to my pocket," I tell Miss E, as I juggle J-Man in one hand and my phone in the other, as we cross through the car park into the store.

My little companion. He likes to pick stock off the shelves that he thinks I might like. Errm, thanks!

And here is the reason why Officeworks is such an exciting destination for Miss E.
LITTLE TROLLEYS! "Excuse me, Mumma,"she says.

J-Man tries to tuck into his chocolate treat - wrapper and all. Hold on tiger!

We made it to the beach! We play Follow the Leader again, all the way down to the sand.

J-Man holds my hand for balance as we find the best spot to share our chocolate treat.

I get complacent about this place. But nothing beats the crash of those waves and the sand beneath my toes.

 

Miss E surveys the surf and approaching weather system.

Miss E and J-Man. They're just about to strip off for a paddle in the waves.

J-Man holds onto his Mumma's hand and anticipates the encroaching wave tickling his toes.

Miss E jumps and splashes about excitedly in the surf. "One more wave, then it's time to go home," I said. A great way to end the day.

The grass is always greener...

We went to a Farewell Party for one of my best friends on Sunday. Her and her adoring husband have been planning this trip for some time. It's been part of their plan. So while I've been counting down the days to when J-Man sleeps through the night, they have been counting down the days to their round-the-world, no-fixed-plan, trip. 


But here I am, craving a great night sleep. And no, I'm not talking about this five hour business that some optimistic parents and baby professionals will refer to as 'sleeping through'. I'm hanging out for the real deal. I want 100% uninterrupted, eyes-closed, mind-in-Slumber-land SLEEP. With stats like parents typically losing up to 750 hours of sleep in the first year of their baby's life, it's easy to understand why I can be a little sleep obsessed. I won't go into the intrinsic baby details right now of why J-Man wakes through the night at 13 months of age, but be assured that my husband and I dream of the days that we wake up feeling rested - that is, when we have a chance to dream at all.

So needless to say, I am a little envious of our dear friends embarking on this baby-free journey of a lifetime. They will have freedom, they will be spontaneous, and they will have day trips without needing a pack horse to lug oodles of supplies and 'just in case' essentials (except of course if they're embarking upon such envious expeditions as the likes of the Inca Trail). But more importantly, they can have as many sleep-ins and early-nights as they desire - although in the case of this particular couple, I doubt they'll opt for either!

Despite my envy, and all my joy for this lovely pair fulfilling one of their life goals, I can't help but wonder whether the life choices I've made so far have meant that I've missed the boat for an adventure such as this. I find myself reflecting on my life choices a lot (I know I'm all but 25, but there's been a few Robert Frost moments), and I wonder whether I should have done things in a different order. Afterall, maybe the average age for women to have their babies in Australia is 30 years of age for a reason (read more about this here). Do we need to have babies in our 30's so we can 'fit' all these great life experiences in during our 20's before babies come along and halt them for a time?

Unfortunately, I don't have the wisdom and life experience of a woman in her 30's, 40's, or 50's (and more). I don't have the benefit of hindsight just yet to look back on these tiring, and seemingly restrictive days. Maybe there's a world trip just around the corner (although I doubt that), or maybe it's sooner than I think, or never. For now though, I guess I can be comforted by the fact that my cherished, globe-trotting friends are probably no less envious of my life than I am of theirs. For I have two sweet little babies sleeping in the room next to me as I type this, and when I finish this sentence, I'm going to kiss each of their angelic, sleeping faces for reassurance that I have chosen the right path.

A busy day, two tired kids, a backpack and a phone camera

We had a busy morning yesterday. We managed to get the kids dressed and shoveled some toast into them early enough for us to have our own breakfast out. Like a proper breakfast - one that I didn't have to cook myself. 


So in an unprecedented event, Mr D, Miss E, J-Man and I took ourselves to our local Westfield for a cafe-style breakfast. We timed it well actually, as J-Man was able to have his morning sleep in the pram while we ate, and Miss E could play on one of those coin-operated car rides while we watched on from a far - until she spotted her dad's iced chocolate that is.


We made it through breakfast without incident, although there was a rush to the restrooms when Miss E announced loudly enough for the whole cafe and surrounding food court to hear, "I need do do a wee! I need do do a wee!". I'm used to my meals being interrupted, so this was no big deal, but I did notice that my hash brown had mysteriously disapeared upon our return.


Our next mission whilst still in the shopping centre was to complete a rarely performed task. I could count on one hand (possibly two fingers) the amount of times we've attempted it. Mr D and I went clothes shopping for him. After terms like "grandpa shirt", "tablecloth fabric", and "over my dead body" were tossed about, we left empty handed. Fortunately we both had low expectations, so neither of us were overly phased. I will complete a solo mission over the coming days, which will result in numerous refunds and exchanges. Nothing out of the ordinary for the wife of a shoppo-phobic.


Our next stop (after a detour to the restrooms for an unquestionably vile nappy change) was our friend's Farewell Picnic (more on this later), before finally returning home mid-afternoon. Mr D and I were flaking out on the lounge, and the kids were showing us every tired sign ever documented in an early childhood book. We had tantrums, we had eye-rubbing, ear-pulling, yawning, grizzling, grimacing, shin-hugging, and a baby who refused to be put down - magnetic baby. The problem with this was that it was too late for them to nap, but too early for their bedtime. It was 3.30pm and there was still 90 minutes before we could start the kids' nighttime dinner/bath/bed routine. 


So what did we do? We did what every parent has to do when ruled by their adoring, but needy children. We scraped ourselves up off the lounge and put their needs first. In this case, we decided to get them out of the house. This was a bit of a mission given that it was raining and we didn't have a rain cover for our pram, but we managed.

I trudge along the wet bitumen, pushing an empty pram.

 

Miss E follows behind me like a baby duck, rubbing her wet tracky pants after deciding to sit on the gutter mid-tantrum.

Mr D converted one of his hiking packs into a makeshift baby backpack carrier and carries J-Man.

 

J-Man happily plods along on his father's back and enjoys chewing on a tasty buckle.

"Where is that Miss E?" wonders her father and brother as they look back over their shoulders.

There she is! Miss E balanced the whole way along her favourite balancing wall, without holding onto my hand. She did it all by herself!

After another disappearing act, Miss E reappears offering her Mumma a Frangipani flower. Who can be cranky with that?

 

The trudge continues. Mr D is armed with his umbrella for quick protection of his precious cargo.

Time to swap! Feeling a little left out, the Miss E jumps into the backpack for a special ride with her dad.

J-Man happily accepts the new comfort of the pram, but quickly zones out, nodding off to sleep! Oh no you don't young man! It's still too early for bedtime!

Little J-Man was not blinking in this photo. This is merely his heavy eye-lids. Time for intervention!

And so our afternoon wander came to an end as I carried J-Man the rest of the way home to keep him awake, and Mr D pushed the empty pram with Miss E in his backpack. We quickly fed, showered, and clothed them, and managed to have them both sleeping soundly by 7.10pm (not without some convincing for Miss E). Ahhhh, rest at last (until the first night waking)!