Tag Archives: social challenges

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Things that make me uncomfortable.

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A lot of things make me uncomfortable. Budget airline seating. Running. Too much ice cream. Holding the not so Little Mister in one arm for five minutes while trying to pay for something at the shops. Anybody else’s pillows except for mine. Kneeling beside the bath each evening, trying to be close enough to make sure the Little Mister doesn’t fall over and sustain an injury (or overdose on the consumption of a random bubble bath brand that you found in the cupboard because he ran out of his normal type and you couldn’t be effed going to the shops that day – parenting fail win).

I mean, those are the physical things.

But what about my social foibles?

Small talk in the supermarket/doctors’ surgery/anywhere.

I suck at it. I’m not talking about small talk at parties, bars or places you go to socialise and stay a while. I’m talking about the places you go in your every day life. The places where you have a task to complete, before moving on. Don’t get me wrong, nine times out of ten I really do like running into nice people that I know. I just don’t know how long to talk for and when to exit the conversation politely (or how)! It’s like you say, “Hi! How are you today? Yes, the Little Mister has grown and yes he is cute. What have you been up to? Oh, not much? Just working and stuff? OK, good to see you…um…”

I know I’m not the only one. Almost all of my conversational colleagues display a similar awkwardness. Maybe there needs to be some universal code/signal where everyone bows out gracefully at some kind of socially pre-approved moment. So no-one has to do the…”Well, I’ll um…let you get back to your shopping…” or the, “Well, I had better keep moving, I suppose…” thing. No matter how nicely put that is, it never feels entirely comfortable. Am I right or am I right?

It’s particularly uncomfortable when you keep running into the exact same person at the supermarket every time. Do you say something? Do you not say anything, just smile or wave? AWKWARD. Just awkward.

Walking onto an aircraft with a small child.

As you look for your seats, you can feel eye balls on you. Just following your every move. Are they going to sit near my seat? Are they not? Oh, phew/dammit they are/not. Suddenly, you’ve become the enemy of air travel society. Public enemy number one. You know this, but you’re trying to act all nonchalant as you panic on the inside. WHAT IF THEY’RE RIGHT? WHAT IF MY CHILD IS AN AWFUL LITTLE CRETIN? PLEASE DON’T BE A LITTLE CRETIN TODAY!! You sit there tense, until the plane takes off. The only relief you get is when there is a child fifteen rows up who is much much worse than your own. You feel the spotlight shift and you start counting down the hours and minutes until you land.

Speaking up when there’s something wrong with my food.

Having worked in customer service for a number of years (you name it I’ve done it – well not anything illegal or…sexy but you get what I mean), I know what it’s like to have b*tch customer after b*tch customer. Some have valid complaints, and others…well, there’s a special place in hell for those people (they are the same people who write weekly complaint letters to the local papers). While I realise the avocado in my pasta dish is brown and the prawns seem a little…off…I will still say, “Yeah, no problems here. Thanks!” when asked if my meal is alright by the waitstaff. Yep. I’ll risk food poisoning in order to be the nice customer. Idiot.

Driving the Little Mister to his immunisation appointments. 

For some reason these appointments always end up being in the late morning. That gives just enough time for the Little Mister and I to go through the normal motions of life at home, before I have to bundle him up and into the car for our ride to DOOM. It’s not really doom. It’s a few little jabs in the arms/legs which could ultimately save his life and the lives of all others in the first world, but at the time I feel so much dread. Will he cry lots? Will I then want to cry lots? How many heartbreaking days/nights of grumpy, irritable, feverish side effects are we both in for? Why does he always seem to be extra well behaved, affectionate and cheerful and smart RIGHT BEFORE HIS NEEDLES? It makes it seem all the more cruel. I get that whole, “Why am I stressing? It’s just his needles. Can he tell I’m stressing? Stop stressing!” mindset. I know. It’s dumb. But I find it very uncomfortable.

Public transport. 

WHERE DO I PUT MY EYES?? WHY IS THAT GUY LOOKING AT ME??

Thinking too much in hotel rooms. 

I don’t mind a nice getaway in a reputable hotel. A great treat. A touch of romance? An escape from the housework and routine at home? Celebration of an anniversary, maybe? Room service and pay TV, anyone?

It’s only when I think about it too much that I get very uncomfortable very quickly. I used to watch a lot of CSI. I’ve seen all those episodes where they spray that stuff on everything and then shine one of those blue light things on the bed and the toilet. All the human bodily fluids lighting up like a pretty neon artwork. I start wondering how many people have stayed here before me. Whether the sheets have been washed properly. Did the cleaners change the blankets out? What is that white, crusty stain on the chair in the corner? God, I hope it’s yoghurt. Do you spell it yogurt or yoghurt? Oops. Got distracted…

OMFG SOMEONE HAD SEX IN THIS HOTEL ROOM BEFORE I GOT HERE.

Well, duh. But still. Makes me uncomfortable. Don’t even talk about how I feel about the spa tub or the occasional pubic hair found between sheets or on the carpet.

AAAARGH!!!!!

People complimenting me on my dodgy DIY manicures.

I can’t often afford to get my nails done professionally. I also like Pinterest. I guess you can see how those two factors fit together. I try different things all the time (usually as a little Friday night pick me up), before showing my husband and having him give the “Is this a trap?” face when I ask if he likes my nails. I admit, it’s pretty hit and miss, but it’s fun to do.

People often notice my *ahem* unique nail designs and say, “Oh wow. I love your nails.”

I then awkwardly try to hide them and mutter, “Thanks…I was just messing about…”

I get scared people will look too closely and discover just how bad they are. Inconsistently placed nail art. Chipped polish. Amateurish shaping of my nails. Eek!

Uncomfortable.

Having tradies working at my house.

I never know the etiquette. Do I offer them a drink? Am I supposed to make small talk? Do I leave them to it? Is it OK to disappear into another room – what if they need to ask me something? Do I act natural? Of course I realise that they (hopefully) have better things to do than analyse what I’m doing, but nonetheless I feel awkward. If I go about my domestic duties, I feel weird. If I don’t and I’m just on the computer or have the TV on, I feel like they think I do nothing all day, every day. I have no idea how to act. What if they ask me a question and I don’t know the answer? What if there’s a chance I’ll say the wrong thing and then everything goes all pear shaped? What if I don’t notice they’re doing a bad job until it’s too late and they’ve gone home?

Maybe it’s just the idea of letting strangers onto my property or something. Gets me all weird. I am just not that cool.

That moment I click “pay now” on an online purchase. 

The discomfort only lasts for a few short minutes, but immediately upon committing to an online transaction, I feel this crazy rush of adrenaline and freak out. I think I’m still a kid inside. The kid who shouldn’t be allowed to use a credit card or make decisions on the internet. I feel like I’ve done something naughty and OH MY GOD, WHAT IF I REGRET THIS?

I probably need therapy or something.

Chill out, lady. It’s just a book or something. Hmm. Better make that a self help book. Sigh.

When everyone wants to share their meals in a social situation. But I don’t.

Because I am a hungry, greedy woman who DOES NOT WANT TO SHARE, BUT CAN’T TELL ANYONE BECAUSE THAT’S SELFISH. I am a horrible person.

Please tell me I’m not alone…or let me know where I can get help haha.

This post was a part of the Blog Every Day in May challenge.



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For one night only.

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So last week I was having some weird moments. I was just mentally…struggling? I don’t know if that’s the right term, but all I know is that I was not my best Kez. I had perhaps a little dose of PMS (yep), my husband was away for a week, I had a lot of sh*t going on in my brain (it was still trying to process the whole previous year month) and I felt like I’d lost my mojo. I was letting all of my insecurities play out in my mind (usually in the mid afternoon when I felt the most bored/drained of energy). Fears of not being the best parent I could be, fears of rejection/being invisible to the world, worrying, worrying and more worrying. I was not eating as well as I had been the months previous (I lost 2.5 kilos by being a good girl) and due to my coccyx being quite badly bruised, I hadn’t been able to get my exercise endorphin hit.

On one particularly rough day/s (my Twitter followers will know exactly which few one because I became some kind of emo annoyance), I checked Facebook (after spending all day being the aforementioned annoyance via tweets) and I saw how wonderful everyone’s social lives appeared to be. I saw how amazing everyone looked (we all show our best sides on Facebook, right?) and I couldn’t take it anymore.

So I did it. At times I felt a little lost. I am embarrassed to say that at one point, I wished to tweet: Have turned off Twitter for the night. Feeling a little lost without it.

Yuh.

Don’t worry. I stopped myself.

We get so used to broadcasting our every thought to every person that nothing is sacred anymore. Now, I’m not really totally against that – how could I be? All you have to do is read back over my timeline to know that I have no right to be a hypocrite about it now! However, occasionally it’s probably a good thing to go old school. Back when you had to actually talk to someone about your feelings. Someone you know. In real life. You had to spend time without all the constant ‘noise’ in your head from seeing every person’s every move ever online. You had time and mental space to actually sort your sh*t out and to think straight. Time to think straight is a commodity for a parent in general as it is!

As I sat at my (new and shiny birthday) laptop, my iPhone nearby, I suddenly realised why there are crazy experiments on current affairs shows all the time where families spend a whole week without technology in order to become more creative, interactive, peaceful people. I wouldn’t go to that extreme, but I kind of get it.

While I had to almost slap myself on the hand to prevent myself from tapping the Facebook icon on my phone or tweeting all my opinions on all things that ever existed on Twitter, I stuck to my guns for a whole evening. And it felt good. I caught up on some TV. I read some inspiring blogs. My thoughts became more positive when I wasn’t secretly (in my mind) snarking about somebody and their posts on Facebook. I didn’t have up to the minute ‘news’ on Twitter to get my knickers in a twist about – politics, human rights, misinformation pertaining to recent terror attacks around the world. Nothing was in “real” time. I was on Kez time. Living Kez moments. Sure, they weren’t the most scintillating moments, but they were mine. Nobody else’s lives injected themselves into my peaceful evening. I didn’t have momentary commentary to react to RIGHT THEN AND THERE.

I found myself wanting to blog, not dreading it. Not overthinking it.

I began to wonder if I could actually go without it for another day. And then maybe another? What stuff could I get done without the constant ‘noise’ in my brain? What awesome things could I think of next? What if I only used the internet for ‘useful’ things – things I wanted to know? Not things that popped up every second in my newsfeeds and timelines, whether I liked it or not? What if I could be in control, just for a little while?

Maybe I’d actually find those healthy recipes I’d been thinking about (and then actually cook them, toddler permitting)? What if I blogged about MY thoughts? Thoughts I might not have had if I’d been busy ‘liking’ everyone’s cute baby photos/duck faces the minute they were posted? What if I kept some special memories just to myself and my little family? That funny thing the Little Mister did, the milestone we all reached together. What if I felt no obligation to just ‘check in’ so that everyone knew what was going on? Who says they wouldn’t find out if they needed to?

I think social media is a wonderful and valuable tool. It connects people to other awesome people they might not have known existed. It keeps people in touch in the easiest, most immediate ways when time and distance can separate them. It is there when you need support (especially as a new parent) and it can even be responsible for positive societal change – people can unite from all around the world to champion a fantastic cause.

Yep. It has its downsides too. There are probably too many to list once you mention the fact that it can be abused. But that’s for another blog post. I am 29 now, not 19. I should be mature enough to do the best thing for myself when I’m feeling down/flat/lonely. And last week it was to switch off the social media sites and to listen to myself.

That afternoon (before the Little Mister was in bed), I picked up the phone and called my mum for a heart to heart. I snuggled with the Little Mister whose fledgling wicked sense of humour and unabashed displays of affection light up my life. I wasn’t distracted by the flash, flash, flash of my phone as notifications rolled in. I zoned out and it felt good. Who hasn’t earnt that after a long hard day? OK, so I retweeted a couple of things…but I was a good girl once the evening rolled around. As I lay in bed, my overwhelming problems turned into achievable goals and solutions. I taught myself new things – things I’d felt held back by because I didn’t know how to do them. I stopped holding my breath, feeling that anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

I didn’t miss it! I didn’t miss the viral posts about how 1000, 000 likes were required to cure some rare disease. I didn’t miss the photos and the status updates as people advertised the best sides of themselves. I didn’t miss the latest celebrity gossip. I didn’t miss that feeling of insecurity that crept up when I didn’t get any ‘likes’ or felt like everyone was having a great time but me.

The next day I felt differently about social media. I realised that I need to be in control of it, not the other way around. It was up to me when I logged in and why. From now on, when I’m feeling blue or insecure, I’m going to switch off. Without feeling weird or …guilty. I’m sure a Facebook message can wait another day for a reply. I don’t have to be switched on 24/7. Who made that rule, anyway (don’t get me started)?

I’m going to slow down and live in the moment. At least as much as I can. Every now and then, at least. Maybe. Look, I’ll just try to be marginally less irritating. I suppose. Kind of. Y’know…

Oh, look at me being all non committal for fear of being a massive hypocritical liar…

In all seriousness, I think it’s all about being mindful. So many times, I stumble upon Facebook and Twitter half awake, bleary eyed. Liking and tweeting without really thinking about it. Letting my mind become flooded with information that I haven’t consciously prepared myself to receive. I think that I can try harder to open these social media apps/sites deliberately. Not just on auto pilot – out of habit. So far, I have been able to do that. I’ve thought about it a lot more. I feel better for it.

I can’t promise that I won’t have my annoying moments on Twitter – no-one’s perfect – but I’ll probably save bucketloads of moolah on therapy by switching off/slowing down every now and then ;)

How do you feel about social media? Hate it? Love it? Love to hate it? x

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Mummy’s *big* night out. A mediocre story.

Pic: “Quick, Kez – pick a karaoke song!”

I don’t get out much at night time anymore. Ever since I started teaching the Little Mister how to sleep through the night again, I’ve been reluctant to break his routine and cart him around with us to too many dinners or evening events. Also, the idea of being able to get out in an outfit that doesn’t involve leggings or flat shoes usually seems to remain a fantasy and not much more. So when my friend messaged me last week, alerting me to the fact that she was back in town and wanted to catch up at a local bar, I got a little excited…

Actually, in all honesty it went more like this:

I realised it was an evening thing and my heart sank a little.

I checked my husband’s work roster to see if I could possibly be baby free that night.

I made a check of my bank balance.

I allowed myself to become tentatively excited.

I made a request to my husband that he stay back at home with the bub for a few short hours (while wrestling with my guilt at being one of “those mums” who leaves their families at home just so they can go and socialise).

He said yes.

The day arrived and I questioned myself about whether or not I was too tired to be heading out on a “school night” (every night is a school night these days).

I then wondered whether I even had anything suitable to wear.

I suddenly remembered a(n) LBD that was sitting in my wardrobe waiting to be worn.

I then allowed myself to feel genuine excitement.

Are you tired just reading that???

To my non-parenting (read: smart) friends, this casual couple of hours of drinks event was probably just a blip on the weekday radar, I’m sure. Something to look forward to, but you just got dressed, turned up and Bob’s yer uncle. For me, it was sadly a BIG DEAL. You would think I was headed to an Academy Awards ceremony or something. Or at least the VMAs. I shaved my legs for this, guys. AND I ACCESSORISED. I even…wait for it…I even fired up the ol’ hairdryer and used the ol’ volumiser in my hair. I trialled three pairs of shoes, before deciding on my nude platform HEELS. I wore eyeliner, eye shadow and blush. EVEN LIPSTICK. I PAINTED MY NAILS.

I do not get out much, so when I do? I’m going to make a damn effort, damn it!

Anyway, I got there and I had a great time catching up with old friends. I had TWO glasses of wine. No-one tried to grab them off me. I ate some snack fries without anyone crying about the injustice of it all and trying to steal them. We spoke about adult things (OK by that, I mean I swore a bit and we mentioned things we wouldn’t joke about in front of our mothers). It was great. But it was only to last a couple of hours, before the friend who invited everyone out was to return to her mother’s house for the night.

All was not lost. Luckily I had a partner in crime. We weren’t done yet. We heard there was somewhat of a karaoke night going on at the local Irish pub. We wanted to go there and join in on the fun. We were thinking of going nuts. After all, I was wearing a nice outfit and I knew the Little Mister was at home tucked up in bed sleeping soundly. My husband was probably not so secretly hoping I’d come home late, inebriated and a bit frisky. My friend has no children but works hard and hadn’t let loose in a while. This was so on.

Well, we got to the Irish pub and it was a little bit tame.

“Where are all the young people?” I asked. “I thought Thursday night was big with the young people in this town!”

My partner in crime (since age 6) agreed with me. This wasn’t what we expected.

“Should we just skip the alcohol so we can both still drive home?” we asked each other.

We sidled up to the bar making jokes about how wild we are, when the bartender asked what we would like.

“I’ll have a Coke, please….and my friend will have a…”

“Lemon, lime and bitters, thanks!”

The bartender went about his business and came back with the drinks. It was time to pay.

“We’ll um…pay separately please.”

I broke a $10 note (a big deal to break any notes these days) and my friend found her little change purse and slowly counted out the silver coins in it.

The bartender shook his head and smiled sadly at us.

“Where should we sit? Over in the booth?”

“Oh, we won’t be able to see the karaoke from there. Let’s move closer.”

We sat awkwardly right in front of the stage, under the lights.

“Let’s take a photo of us together and put it on Facebook and make it look like we’re having a wild night!”

I fumbled with my iPhone and we bunched our heads together.

“Wait…just gotta flip the camera view around – it will be easier that way…”

“Smile!”

“Yep, got it! I’m totally ‘checking in’. You should comment on it and say what a crazy time we’re having. Everyone will think we’re totally living it up!”

“Haha yeah! We’re so funny!”

“Let’s do karaoke! Should we look at the list of songs and pick one?” my friend asked.

“Let’s wait until someone bad performs and then we’ll have a go,” I suggested, knowing deep down that we were way too sober and chickensh*t to actually follow through.

No-one was bad. They were hardcore regulars. Every one of them. The dude that sang Hootie and the Blowfish totally had the X-Factor and the guy who hosted the karaoke ad libbed during a Johnny Cash song (the daggy dad dancing was a bonus and we nicknamed him Somebody’s Dad because he just seemed like he could be ANYBODY’S dad).

“Maybe we’ll just listen.”

“Yeah, maybe next time we’ll bring a whole bunch of friends with us and get drunk.”

“Yeah, next time. Next time we’ll be so awesome and have such a big awesome time. Next time!”

Then we left. I climbed into my big, wagon-y, family car and I was home in time to watch Criminal Minds and tuck myself into bed at the usual hour.

I don’t know who I am anymore. But I had a great time :)

The End.

 

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It’s not just my voice.

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Note: This post is quite emotionally revealing and has been difficult for me to write (it’s taken a few weeks), but I felt it was important to express because I am sure I’m not the only new mum going through it.

All my life I’ve been a very strong minded (some may be reckless enough to accuse me of being stubborn) person. I’ve always known what I’ve wanted and how I feel about certain issues. Which is mostly a good character trait to have, and occasionally I learn the hard way. Luckily I do usually learn pretty well from my mistakes, but I like that I am passionate about my beliefs (while trying to be open minded enough to change those beliefs when necessary).

However, if you asked some of the people who know the ‘outside’ me (those who aren’t in my household or my immediate family) about this trait, they might look at you funny. When something doesn’t sit well with me or I feel confronted, I dither about, overexplain my position or pretend it’s all good when it isn’t. Sometimes I’ll even be silly enough to ignore my gut instincts, because I’m scared of what people will think if I do my own thing. I could get all psychoanalytical about how I think it’s a fear of not belonging, brought about by my ultimate rejection as a baby (leading to my adoption), but to keep things short and simple, I care too much about what people might say if I go against the grain. It doesn’t ultimately stop me in most cases and I might appear strong and sure of my decisions in the end, but it usually comes after a massive inner struggle that can last for days (or more appropriately 3am moments at night)!

Since I fell pregnant with the Little Mister, I’ve had to be mentally strong time and time again. I’ve had to find courage inside myself, in order to speak my truth. You see, it’s no longer just my truth anymore. My voice is no longer just mine. I have this little guy in my life who cannot speak yet. He cannot make wise life decisions that affect his wellbeing. I have the highest honour, the biggest responsibility. His dad and I must be his voice. I will sometimes have to be strong and make unpopular decisions or do something people might not agree with if I know in my heart that it’s for the best.

It is my duty to be strong and assertive. To carve my own way where my little family is concerned. I can’t dither about, ignore my instincts or doubt myself constantly just because some people out there may be ignorant or judgemental. I need to realise that we (my little family) don’t have to answer to anyone. We’re good people, we’re proactively educated, and we will always do our best to raise our baby.

I respect other parents and their choices. I am not perfect and I do judge occasionally (like when a pregnant woman says she’s going to drink Red Bull all night at the club – overheard on the train usually), but I do believe that being a new parent is hard enough as it is. Every parent is different and every baby is different. Most of us grow up relatively OK. Some may have more issues than others, but we all do what I believe is the best with what we know how at the time. If we know better, we do better and I always try to know as much as I can.

I guess what I’m saying here is that we might falter sometimes when we speak up for ourselves as individuals and we might ignore our own needs when we shouldn’t, but since having the Little Mister I have learnt a very valuable lesson in using my voice because right now, it’s his voice too. I have to get over myself. I have to stay strong. I don’t have to get confrontational (that’s not always constructive), but I have to believe in myself, not doubt what I believe in and quietly do my own thing anyway (without tearing myself to pieces with guilt or fear about it).

I don’t want to stand up on my somewhat unsteady soapbox and go on about how I’m a mother and all others should bow down because I’m the first person to ever have a baby. I just have to set limits and draw lines. I have to take calculated risks and believe in the fact that no-one knows my baby (or my family) better than my husband or I do. I have to stop listening to those who love to judge someone else (even worse when it’s other mothers who should know better), because they are probably insecure themselves and don’t know how else to feel OK about their own choices.

It’s not just me anymore. Someone else is depending on me and I take that responsibility very seriously. If I ignore my gut feeling where his needs are concerned because I’m scared someone will tell me I’m doing it wrong (even though it’s actually none of their business), then I’m not doing my job. I’m always open to learning and improving, but I need to trust my ability in seeking out the right answers and not blindly follow someone else.

When the Little Mister was born, I felt thrust into the unknown (in both the best and the scariest way). I wanted to show that I was eager to learn and I wanted to trust in the fact that billions of people on this earth have given birth before me. If I had my time over (and maybe I will one day) I would stand up to the people I was scared of. I would trust more in my intuition. I would tell the well intentioned midwives that I didn’t want them to grab my nipples when showing me how to breastfeed – that I could tell my baby knew exactly what to do without them grabbing me the third, fourth and fifth times. I would tell them I was too stressed to express every hour if they all kept walking in the hospital room and watching me each time I had a quiet moment and that it wasn’t helping my milk to come in. I would say that the real reason I was crying on day 3 of my hospital stay was because it was unnatural that I hadn’t seen my baby the first three days of his life and that my painkilling drugs had worn off making me realise that I was p*ssed off that they were acting like it was normal that he wasn’t with me – not because of stupid baby blues (they didn’t help but they weren’t the real reason). I would tell my friends that it’s OK that my Little Mister doesn’t spend a lot of time overnight with his grandparents so I can go out more, because I feel like it’s my job (and my pleasure) to be with him when I can. I am still teaching him to manage his separation anxiety and he gets plenty of time without us (let’s go easy on him – he’s 5 months and 3 weeks old), and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything in my life. I don’t know if they think about any of this, but I worry that they do. I just have to be OK with my decisions and wear them with confidence. The Little Mister’s doing great (all the usual baby maladies aside) and so am I! We’re happy :)

I need to tell people it’s not OK to just rock up at my house with very little warning and start making noise during the Little Mister’s bathing, feeding and bed time unless they’re planning on staying the night in his room. ;) I need to be able to say, “Sorry I can’t afford that. Our income is limited right now and we’re channeling our funds into our family home or the baby’s needs, before we start spending on other things. Some months will be tighter than others.”  and not just try to keep up when it’s simply not possible, out of the fear that people will think we’re tightwads or will start analysing our spending. “Oh, I saw her buying a $4 magazine last week. She can’t be THAT poor.”

That’s not everyone else’s voice. That’s the mean voice inside my own head. Stupid voice. The nice voice should remind the mean voice that my husband and I work very hard to budget our cash and we believe in living a balanced life. Our finances are our own business and they don’t stop us from living our life. So to hell with what some hypothetical, imaginary mean person might think!

And now I sound crazy with all this talk about voices in my head and imaginary people…moving right along…

I need people to understand what it’s like to have a baby – the challenges, the need for stability and the energy it requires. Sometimes I just have to ask tell everyone straight out what I want or what the Little Mister needs as an individual (not all babies are the same in a situation). They might not actually be mindreaders (!) and it’s not fair to assume that they will understand a situation they’re not familiar with or that they haven’t lived.

Most importantly, along this journey into parenthood, I’ve noticed a pattern. Every time I ignore my gut instinct because I’m worried about what people will think, I take a bit of a detour down the wrong path. From now on, I am going to try harder to stay true to myself and my family. I need to trust that those in my life are strong too and they can handle my truth.

If I don’t stand up for my Little Mister, who will?

Have you ever found it difficult to stray away from the pack or speak your truth (this is not just a mummy specific question)?

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It has to happen sooner or later.

Pic: Those are just cordial, right? I have to wake up in the morning, you know.

Last week I went out for dinner with The Girls. It was a nice, casual mid week meal, with lots of chatterboxes sitting all around the one table at a local fish and chips joint. Of course we’d rearranged the long tables so we could all see each other and therefore maximise the amount of different conversations we could participate in all at the one time (there are a healthy number of us). The guys just wouldn’t understand haha.

I was in such a good mood and the baby was at home sleeping, with my husband on duty that I did something wild and crazy. I went to the pub (where I ordered a non alcoholic drink) and stayed there for a WHOLE 45 minutes extra (after clearing it with my husband because I wanted to be considerate).

I know. I’m out of control. Next step? Rehab. Clearly.

Oh and sadly, just that little jaunt had me feeling tired all the next morning. I have shamed myself. It’s all over.

You know what, though? I was actually happy with that! I had a fantastic time, I had a short but much needed break from looking after the Little Mister (coming off the back of two weeks of him not being so well) and it was fun seeing my friends and talking about things that weren’t all baby, baby, baby (and no I’m not going to break out into a Justin Bieber song). OK, so sometimes we talked about babies. There were three of us mummies and one mummy to be in the group after all :)

Then this last Saturday evening, I was driving home from a quick trip to the shops to return some DVDs to the rental shop (yes we still rent DVDs from an actual shop). It got me thinking. What would I have been doing at that time on a Saturday night before I fell pregnant (not much more than a year ago)?

Oh, that’s right. I would have been making/buying myself a terrible dinner consisting of either hot chips, something else that was processed and stuck in the oven or maybe breakfast cereal (the pre-nightclubbing breakfast dinner of champions)! I would have most likely been home alone because my husband was working away a lot at that point (FIFO) and my stereo would have been loud as I sang along to every brand new song I’d had time to listen to, download and sync to my iPod. I would have finished dinner and started trying on every outfit in my wardrobe, just wandering aimlessly from room to room of my house for a few hours until magically, I was looking amazingly dolled up and somehow all the clothes I’d ever owned (we’re talking short skirts, sexy tops and little black dresses) were on my bed. I would shrug my shoulders and think “Oh well, I’ll get to that later”. I’d head out at say 9pm and the night’s events would go as follows:

- Hang out in a seedy pub with my friends

- Declare it too seedy for ladies such as ourselves to be seen in (bahaha)

- Move to another bar where we’d decide it was too quiet

- Have a deep and meaningful discussion/argument over when was too early/late to head to a nightclub

- Dance about in one club and decide the music was too crap

- End up at the nightclub which is named after an exotic bird, but is not really an exotic place but at least the music was alright and the dancefloor was always just full enough and usually I’d run into my brother and his friends or a bunch of other people we knew

- Decide we’d had enough of clubbing when the music turned into crazy rave beats and a headache started setting in

I’d then go home, crawl into bed (after shoving all my clothes that I’ve ever owned onto the floor), pass out and wake up at 10am the next day (which is when I’d do the dishes from my awful dinner and put my clothes away).

I would spend all of Sunday morning lying on the couch watching trashy shows on my DVR and loving every moment of it!

Oh how things change!

Nowadays I spend most of my weekend nights in (not including casual dinners at other peoples’ houses), unless there’s something really really important on like an engagement party or wedding. I whiz about getting ready in a matter of minutes (not dawdling for hours) and find myself dressed in clothes that cover all my stretch marks (which I picked out in my mind HOURS OR DAYS AGO in order to save time). If I’m feeling particularly wild and rebellious I will throw on a necklace and earrings (stuff a baby normally loves to grab and pull). I might even have time to blowdry some volumiser through my hair! Sometimes I can even convince myself that I can still rock a smokey eye or a bit of snazzy eye shadow. Yes, I just used the word “snazzy”. The transformation to dorky parent is almost complete. The only need for multiple outfit changes is if the baby spews on me, dribbles on me or proves that I am likely to have a wardrobe malfunction later (by pulling things apart with his little monkey hands).

I’m usually home long before midnight and as I sneak my sleeping babe (who might have stayed a few hours at his grandparents’ place) to bed, I feel relieved that everything’s fine and in the morning I’ll have enough energy to enjoy him.

This month it’s all going to change. Not entirely by my choice. You see, I’m part of a bridal party for a wedding and where there’s a wedding there’s also a hens night to plan and execute. There are also several planning meetings and related commitments. I am so excited for my beautiful friend and bride to be, as well as honoured to be given such an important and special role in her big day, but this forces my hand. I have to face the fact that at some point this month I am going to have to let someone else look after my little man for a WHOLE NIGHT at a time. I’m going to have to let someone else feed him, change him, bathe him, settle him and know when he needs to nap. I know that all of his grandparents are very capable people (hello – my husband and I are alive and kicking so that proves it right?) but you see, I am a worry wart.

Don’t get me wrong. I have left him in his grandparents’ capable care several times for a while at a time. I don’t mind if other people cuddle, feed or bathe him (and they have – I’ve just always been around). I’ve just never attempted a throwback to my old life since he was born. I’ve never left all that responsibility to someone else completely for 24 hours or so. I know that those who care for the Little Mister will do a great job and even if it’s not the same way I’d do it, he will come out of it alive and happy in the end (even if his sleep is a bit off). It’s more that I worry for his loving, generous babysitters. What if they have a bad time with him because they don’t know him the way I do (all those little tricks that seem specific to his quirky personality)?? I don’t want to just be someone who dumps their grumpy baby with someone and forgets about it for the night. I think I’d feel bad! I also don’t want to leave some kind of mum-zilla like 10 page document with them on how to care for him because, well…that would be insane and insulting!

I’m going to have to relax. Or be sedated. Hmm. Carefree and childfree no longer belong in the same sentence! Child free? Not so care free!

I’m sure I’ll let you know how it all went (perhaps I’ll like it so much I’ll hire a nanny and become a professional party animal who wears skimpy leopard print and stripper shoes all the time) – how my life has turned upside down in the last year!!

What are you worrying about this week? Let it all out – free therapy :)

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Christmas Shopping and Public Humiliation. But mostly humiliation.

Pic: “Oh damn, the baby peed on my clothes again!”

Last Wednesday was a very important day in a woman’s life. It was a milestone that every young girl dreams of (well this one anyway). It was a momentous occasion shared by four generations of a family.

Yes, that’s right. Yesterday, my gran, my mum and I introduced the Little Mister (5 and a half weeks old) to the wonders of SHOPPING. And not the boring grocery shopping either. We’re talking about hours of wandering about in a big, shiny shopping centre full of cool shops full of clothes, gifts, gadgets and places to eat! You’ve gotta train them early. Sure, he behaved like most adult males and slept through a lot of it and he was very cooperative until he got hungry and tired…

Now that I’ve finished being slightly sexist…

We were going to attempt half a day of Christmas shopping with the baby in tow. He was pretty calm from the car ride (and a feed before leaving home) and slept for half the day. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was just lying in the moving pram looking about and really taking in all the strange sounds of all the music and people.

The only real challenges were when he needed to be changed. That kid does some explosive number 1s and 2s, with the occasional number 3s if you catch my drift! He especially likes to wait until his dirty nappy is off before he lets loose again with a nice, projectile surprise!

So, I didn’t know this was possible before, but it turns out that babies have superpowers. While feeding the Little Mister, he used these impressive powers to pee MY pants. Somehow he broke through the absorbent forcefield offered by his nappy and peed straight through his outfit, penetrating my dress, so that it dribbled onto my legs.

This all happened at peak lunch hour with a crowded cafe with people looking on (everyone loves looking at new babies and their hapless first time mothers it turns out). I may have exclaimed, “This is awkward!!”

At one point, my mum and gran were looking at me (I think they were laughing a little lot while still trying to be helpful and sympathetic – they only just pulled it off) with a completely oblivious baby in my lap determined to finish his feed (must clarify that I was feeding him from a bottle – boobs were not out thank goodness), a freaked out look on my face and a cloth shoved in my neckline, much like a bib, in case (heaven forbid) he decided to spit up on me as well, and bright coloured hand towels hastily bought by my mum for $2 in the neighbouring store shoved in my lap to absorb the urine! Let’s just say that I’m working on a theory that the indignity of pregnancy and childbirth occurs to prepare us for the indignity of baby wrangling in public! You don’t have a chance to be truly embarrassed – you’re too busy!

I finally managed to grab a minute to gulp down half of my lunch (it’s this new diet where you eat 50% less everything – it’s called having a new baby), which was so not what I ordered (chicken and bacon together is not something I’m a fan of – I don’t like mixing my dead animals too much – I ordered chicken and avocado in my sandwich dammit!) and I wheeled the baby out of there at a rate of knots. As I left the cafe, clucky ladies kept telling me how beautiful my baby was – pretty funny moment to pick, really!

There was no parenting room close by, so I changed the Little Mister in the parent and child toilet while he was in his bassinet. I laid down stuff to protect the fitted sheet in the pram and I had the strap of the nappy bag around my neck like a dangling feed bag (yep – hope you’re having a good laugh at my expense). I could reach into it for everything I needed as there was no bench space! You sure learn how to improvise – fast!

I realised how vastly unprepared I was (awesomely unprepared in fact). I had packed a pretty good nappy bag, but it was missing extra quantities of a lot of things (I grossly underestimated the baby’s ability to decimate many items over a short amount of time) and a spare outfit for myself. I sure learnt that the hard way! Luckily I packed my sense of humour!!! There is sometimes nothing you can do but laugh and think of it as a funny story to tell :)

So, what did we achieve that day? Um…survival? Other than that, not much else. I think we bought NOTHING. Between the three of us adults. This is very out of character. Although, my mum did manage to buy members of our family some goats in third world villages and stuff like that. So I guess that’s something. And it’s for a good cause. So yeah.

While it is tempting to just sit at home and buy everyone’s gifts online next year, I know I will enjoy showing the Little Mister the Christmas decorations, traumatising him with a photo on Santa’s lap and teaching him the joy of giving! I’ll just pack our whole house with me when we head to the shops! Or wear disposable clothes and have everything made out of terry towelling…

How is your Christmas/holiday shopping going? What is your gift giving style?

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Parenthood is ridiculous.

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Look, let me just put it out there: Having a baby is ridiculous. Sometimes it even borders on ridonkulous. Some of the stuff that happens once you have your bundle of joy will just amaze and terrify you (or is it just me?).

Some examples?

I’ve started talking about myself in the third person.
To a baby. Who doesn’t exactly know what I’m on about, seeing as he’s not even three weeks old yet. I refer to myself as “mummy”. I don’t know when this happened to me but it started so naturally that I didn’t even notice the rot had set in until it was too late.
“Mummy is just going to change your nappy now.”
“Mummy is just going to get you ready for a feed.”

I’ve also started referring to my husband as “Daddy”. Which would be really weird if we didn’t have a kid, but I guess seeing as we got one recently it must be OK. But I won’t lie – it’s still frickin’ strange to me.

Everything is about BOOBS. 
I’m attempting to breastfeed (although thankfully I am not quite ridiculous enough to be a breastfeeding nazi) for a while. Every few hours my life revolves around my boobs. The Little Mister is also all about the breast-est-ests. Now all my thoughts are about my boobs.
“Gee, my boobs feel really full. When’s the next feed?”
“My baby makes the most hilarious faces when he’s on the boob.”
“Will my boobs make enough milk for the next feed if I express some milk right now?”
“Where are we going today and will I be required to use my boobs in public?”

It’s all very TMI and yet I feel compelled to tell people (if they ask) about my breast milk coming in and about how many times a day I feed the bub from my lubbly jubblies. It’s such a personal thing and yet it’s so very public. It’s very ridiculous.

There are so many funny moments that just seem so inappropriate for some every day conversations with other humans (the sane ones). I mean, who needs to know that my right boob gushes a lot and sometimes it’s all a little too much for my bub so he just rubs his face in it and makes an enormous mess? No-one needs to know…and somehow I just found a way to tell you all about it (my sincerest apologies to any family members or freaked out friends who are reading this right now).

Also, everyone seems to have an opinion on the matter. It’s enough to drive a sane person batty. At one point this week, I was tempted to write a one line blog post that simply said: “Breastfeeding. Discuss.”

There would most likely have been a sh*t storm and I would have exploded the internet. Fun times.

Everyone keeps telling us that our baby is so darn attractive.
Sure, we think he’s the most ridiculously adorable thing we’ve ever seen in our lives. We’re so sickeningly biased it’s not funny. I always thought that if I was to have an ugly baby I would know. I would just look at him, laugh at his unattractiveness and love him anyway. Turns out I have no idea. I mean, I think he’s good looking for a squishy, grubby looking newborn, but quite frankly I wouldn’t know because I’m so in love.

When people tell us our baby is SO CUTE and that we’ve CREATED A BEAUTIFUL BABY, I mostly get a big head. But then I wonder if people just feel like they should say that? And then I wonder if it’s just darn egotistical that two parents can create a child in their likeness and then be all about how very very good looking they are. Isn’t that just saying that you think you and your partner are very very goodlooking, hence risking sounding full of yourselves?

Sleep deprivation makes you crazy.
One of the first nights we were home from the hospital, I asked my sleepy husband to check the baby’s nappy. He picked up his pillow, being sure to support its neck and carefully carried it towards the change table…before realising halfway that it was not a baby, throwing it back onto the bed in shock. The next morning he begged me not to tell anyone, in case they should think he was nuts. I kept my word, but later he saw the funny side and the story was shared. Now you, dear internets, know the story too ;)

The amount of times I have started sentences, drifted off and then forgotten I had entire conversations is, well…ridiculous! I feel like I can get through a day without completely falling into a coma but obviously I’m in some sort of baby brain survival mode! I think it helps that I was sleepless half of my pregnancy – by this point I’m kind of used to it.

Trips to the supermarket are now very ridiculous.
“How old is he?”
“Oh, he’s so precious and tiny! Cherish every moment! Cherish it!”
“He won’t be like that for very long! Soon he’ll be 14 and answering back to you!”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“What did he weigh when he was born? My babies weighed *this* and *this*.”
“Oh, look at his full head of hair! What a beautiful baby!”

And that’s before you’ve even figured out how to put him in the baby seat on the trolley, so he won’t fall out or catch fifteen diseases.

It’s kind of fun(ny) and admittedly flattering, but it’s a whole new experience. Each aisle contains a new clucky person craning their neck to get a good view of the exhibit baby. The joy a new baby brings to strangers is incredible! It’s just all a little embarrassing when you look down at him and he’s squishing his face up mid-poo, just as someone gets closer for a good look at the CUTE BABEH. It’s tempting to just run away with the trolley yelling, “NOOOOOOOOO! Don’t smell hiiiiiiim!!!!”

My husband reckons he’s going to go back to the shops without me so he can see how many older ladies he can pull. RIDONKULOUS!

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Hallo…what?

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I admit it. I am not really a big partaker in the annual Halloween tradition. I’ve always let it pass me by, without feeling an ounce of regret. I suppose that growing up, it was never really on an Aussie kid’s radar. It was more of an American “thing” to us. Now of course there are kids dressing up everywhere, begging to be taken trick or treating by reluctant parents (some of who belong to my generation). It can’t be that fun for these mini trick or treaters because of a lot of us suburban home dwellers just aren’t prepared for those obnoxious knocks on the door come the 31st of October.

I say “obnoxious” because some kids just have no manners (well, the ones who aren’t being supervised by their lovely parents)! They aren’t polite. They’ll knock for what feels like hours – the same kids! I remember one kid who used to live on our street (at our previous home). When he would knock he sounded like he was falling down against the front door very violently. At least we always knew who it was.

I’ve never once been prepared for these knocks at the door. No big bowl of chocolatey, sugary treats. No leftover Tim Tams in the fridge. Not even some old cough lollies or ancient packets of lifesavers (the type you find in your car that you forgot about before opening the wrapper and gingerly placing one in your mouth even though you don’t remember buying Lifesavers any time since 1999 then declaring that it tastes a bit funny but you can’t remember if that’s just how they taste because it’s been so long).

I admit to being that Halloween grinch who turns the television up and pretends to not hear the loud knocking and giggling children. I just have nothing to offer. Even if I did find some scummy lollies in my handbag worthy of passing out, my husband would not be impressed. He shuns the idea of Halloween completely (Halloween Super Grinch)! He would probably admonish me for giving out treats: “Oh great – they’ll remember this next year and the cycle will never end!!”

Right now we can plead ignorance as a childless couple who don’t understand, but in a few years this might all change. Just wait until Little Mister (he finally has a moniker) comes home from school telling us that Billy and Bobby and Suzie from school are ALL going trick or treating and what am I going to make as a costume for him? Sigh.

I am really no fun this year. Being diagnosed with gestational diabetes is a bit of a downer on the whole junk food experience. Stocks at my house have plummeted. We’re in a non-diabetes friendly food recession. My husband even has to sneak out of the house for a sausage roll or a biscuit (otherwise my jealousy eats away at me and he almost dies a sudden death by the “look” – you know the “look” a wife can give a husband – I’ll slice you in half with my angry glare)! If someone knocks on my door tonight, I’m either going to do the ol’ turn up the TV maneuvre or I’m going to hand the kiddies an orange (if they’re lucky) or a sugar free fake bar of chocolate (half eaten) which tastes like that really cheap, nasty easter egg chocolate that old people give you when you’re a kid.

I think I may have got my Halloween Grinch-ness from my grandfather. I remember staying at his house over a Halloween weekend or two while growing up. There weren’t many trick or treaters back then but he really did a good job of deterring the kids who gave it a good effort. Once he offered them overly ripe bananas. Another time, a can of chicken soup and I have some sort of vague memory of him handing out a tomato or two. I am quite impressed that his car was never egged or that his house was never toilet papered.

Now don’t get me wrong, if I am invited to an adult Halloween party I will enjoy dressing up and playing the part for a fun evening with friends! I’m just not a trick or treating kinda gal! There’s something enjoyable about dressing up as the slutty version of something. Anything. Just make it slutty and you’re good to go. Or just raid the local lingerie shop for pre-made costumes – the type everyone is wearing (which will only make you feel worse when someone younger and hotter turns up at an event wearing the same thing). It’s great when you get your outfit from a costume hire place. It’s usually an ill fitting version of something slutty, one size fits all. Usually in some kind of cheap, scratchy fabric. The type of well worn costume where you wonder what happened last time someone wore it. Now that’s a scary thought for Halloween!

I don’t think I’ll need to dress up this year. I am scary enough as it is, with my tired face, my blotchy, itchy skin (yep – the rash is well and truly back and won’t respond to my normal treatment that worked so well last time) and my greasy ointment. Not to mention my truly round appearance. I look like one of those blow up toys that you punch, but they always somehow stay upright. What are they called? Never mind…I probably wouldn’t actually stay upright if you punched me, come to think of it…

So happy Halloween to those who celebrate it, and to those who do not – I feel ya! ;)

 

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Getting reflective before giving out some unsolicited advice.

As I reach the pointy (stretchy, bumpy, achey) end of my first pregnancy, I am feeling a little bit reflective. It has been one big journey both physically and mentally. When talking to friends who are in the earlier stages of gestation, I realise that I have come a long way. It feels like only yesterday I too was overwhelmed and felt entirely clueless about the whole situation and now I am doling out advice (hopefully the useful and welcome kind) and trying to reassure others about the process – not that I’m some big ol’ expert know it all or anything. I guess I’ve just learnt a lot along the way.

Now, during and after childbirth? That’s a whole other matter!! Stay tuned!!!

Here are some reflections on some of the feelings and symptoms I’ve experienced so far.

Pre-conception

I was trying to play it cool. My pill prescription was due for a refill and I was going to head to the pharmacy for it when my husband said, “Are you sure you need to do that? That’s a whole four months more of the pill. Maybe we could start trying for a baby. It might take a while for your body to adjust so why not just leave it?”

Eek! I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation! I mean, we had always talked about it in an abstract kind of way and we knew we both dreamed of a family of our own, but this was REAL! Holy crap! I looked at him with wide eyes, he looked back at me and I felt a dangerous thrill.

I bought a couple of books online (OK so about four) for us to read. A couple for dads-to-be and a couple about pregnancy itself. I started having an excited browse of them, but soon realised I didn’t want to read far ahead because it was too overwhelming and I needed to stay cool. Conception might take a while and I didn’t want to pressure myself or become crazy about baby making. I wanted to be relaxed and peaceful about the process, not impatient or anxious.

I had occasions where I would have a “moment” and would need reassurance from my husband. I knew people (including my own parents) who had struggled with different fertility and pregnancy issues and while I tried to tell myself that it’s more common than people realise and that I was just being realistic, I realised just how important the dream of falling pregnant really was to me. Being adopted made me feel like I needed someone who comes from me. From my biological family tree. That is hard to admit because so much of my life is about knowing that love is thicker than water, not blood or genetics.

I stopped reading the books completely and the hubby and I booked a Contiki tour of Europe (something to look forward to if things weren’t happening on the baby front), which took the pressure off. Turns out we never went on that tour! ;)

Pic Oh crap! What now?!

First Trimester

I was nervous from the moment we found out we were expecting. The first trimester is when you’re at the highest risk of miscarriage and I was scared that I would have one. Reading statistics about 1 in 5 pregnancies failing doesn’t help! I almost expected that my first pregnancy would fail just because it was my first pregnancy (don’t ask me how that logic works). I just hoped that a second attempt would be successful (luckily this was not to be an issue).

I felt tired and overwhelmed. Suddenly I had a tiny being (or bean) on board. I’d heard the heartbeat early on (about 7 weeks in) and seen a scan of something that looked like a jelly bean attached to another jelly bean (the embryo and its little sac), but it still didn’t feel entirely real. I was excited but I didn’t want to let myself get carried away. I had a few weeks before I would feel safe to tell the world.

I was googling everything I felt. I was reading about all the foods I suddenly had to avoid (if you followed every tiny bit of written advice there is out there you wouldn’t be able to eat anything). I lost my appetite and I was losing a bit of (admittedly excess) weight. I felt so…dumb!

I started reading Up the Duff and What to Expect When You’re Expecting but nothing really sank in. I wasn’t quite ready for it all. Later these books would become my bibles (I highly recommend you keep them for when you’re ready to take their advice).

We told immediate family almost straight away. We figured we’d have support from them if things went wrong but everyone was sworn to secrecy. Their lives would not be worth living if they told even a soul!!!

We had a scare at 12 weeks (right before our ultrasound was due), with a bleed in the middle of the night. I had been stressed and that moment was confusing and scary. It was a long night for us as we waited to have an appointment with our doctor the next morning (it seemed a better option than sitting in ED with the drunk casualties at the hospital on a weekend night). We got our scan booking moved a few days early as we were quite anxious. We were so relieved when there was our little foetus looking more baby shaped, the technician telling us there was no bad reason for my bleeding (perhaps it was the placenta implanting nice and strong in my uterine wall) and that everything was looking great. There appeared to be no abnormalities and there was no likeliness of Down Syndrome too. We were in shock, but this time it was the happy kind. It was a wake up call for me to avoid lots of stress and for my husband to help out with that rather than hyping me up when I felt a bit overwhelmed. It was a big adjustment for the both of us.

I told a couple of very close friends earlier in the piece but it was hard. I never knew how to announce it! It felt embarrassing and weird! Eventually my mum told me it was getting a bit crazy (I started showing at 10 weeks) and that I really just needed to be brave and share the news. I realised she was right. Bottling it up and keeping things secret has never been my style and I just wanted to feel real and honest with those I care about.

It felt like such a relief and I felt ready to embrace the experience.

Second Trimester

This was a wonderful time. I could finally show off my bump and I was starting to gain confidence in what I could eat. My appetite and energy levels came back with a vengeance and although I stupidly started comparing myself to other pregnant people (bad idea) I was feeling excited and happy. I started running around like a madwoman – my version of nesting. I was making the most of my energy boost and I was really enjoying everything I felt in my body. Even the not always awesome symptoms – they meant I was pregnant and that was enough for me!

I was baking up a storm almost daily in the kitchen. I was organising things for people and getting my creative juices flowing. I had started this blog you’re reading right now and I was finally able to read my pregnancy books without freaking out. I made a rule that I would just take it all a week at a time. I would only read about the week of pregnancy I was in and would not dare to flick forwards to those scary parts about labour or breastfeeding! This strategy has been a fantastic one.

Our 20 week ultrasound was very exciting. We paid an extra $15 for a DVD and we delighted in showing our families. We were on top of the world. We now knew we were having a boy! Everyone expected a girl (including me) but it was yet another boy to add to ALL the males on both sides of our families. I was admittedly a teeny tiny bit disappointed but knowing the baby was healthy and he was all ours overshadowed that feeling. I guess the rebel in me had wanted to even up the scoreboard with a bit more oestrogen. Never mind! Maybe next time!

Right after the scan I developed a PUPPP rash. They believe about 1% of women will get this hormonal pregnancy rash. It was unbearable and it started in all the uncomfortable, undignified places you can think of. It itched and it made me crazy. It took 2 weeks to get a diagnosis and I felt so helpless and depressed (I don’t use that term lightly). Until I got a great treatment for it from a dermatologist, I had nothing that worked besides lukewarm baths. Let me tell you, living in the bath sounds like a great idea, but it really gets bad when you can’t cope without it. It would soothe my skin for maybe a couple of hours before I was scratching, crying and having the darkest, most saddest thoughts about my pregnancy (and then feeling more awful that my mind could go there). I wouldn’t wish that time on anyone.

My skin started to scar badly and I felt unattractive, no longer the glowing pregnant lady. I had no clothes to wear (it was winter and leggings or cheap fabrics were out of the question) and I was a shut in for weeks as I was constantly soaked in greasy steroid ointment or had no clothes to wear. Luckily my mum saved the day with a whole bunch of beautiful maxi dresses. Phew. I could leave the house again! Albeit wearing scarves and god knows what else in an attempt to hide my scars.

The itching died down with the ointment and I only needed to use it occasionally. I started living my life again and I felt quite good, although the fear of a flare up was always in the back of my mind.

This is a time where I’d like to point out that I realised there is no perfect pregnancy. I couldn’t control everything and I had to accept that this was my experience. It was OK to have some bad thoughts or experiences. It didn’t make me a bad person or a failure of a pregnant woman. I did feel misunderstood because not many people knew what the condition was, but eventually I was able to re-embrace my pregnancy and focus on the positives with a lot of love and support from family and my husband (who was AMAZING during this time). By being open about my condition, I felt liberated and I hope I educated people on what the condition is about. Even the fact that pregnancies are not always perfect and that’s just the way life is. I became determined to not feel ashamed. The rash was/is not my fault.

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Third Trimester

Sh*t gets real in this trimester. It’s like my focus went from “being pregnant” to “going to have an actual real live baby”. I finally felt ready to buy baby things and think about the end result of my pregnancy! It had been too overwhelming before but now I started to realise what all of this truly means (well I knew a baby is going to be born but there’s a difference between knowing it and feeling it).

I wasn’t just thinking or reading about pregnancy symptoms. I was finally ready to hear advice about actual babies and labour and all the rest of it!

The nursery slowly filled up with furniture and clothing and goodness knows what other supplies! A pram was purchased (something that had scared the bejeezus out of me a trimester or two earlier – who the hell knows what a baby needs?!) and a cot was assembled! I finally had a handle on what all these baby products are, what features I wanted and what the teeny tiny clothing sizes mean!

I had my glucose tolerance test at 28 weeks. What a downer that was! I had a gut feeling all along that I would test positive for gestational diabetes, despite everyone being optimistic.
“What are the odds? You’ve already been through hell with the rash. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

They meant well, but I just KNEW.

I got a bit grumpy having to see a dietician and test my blood four times a day. I felt horrible knowing that the condition was genetic (although relieved it wasn’t caused by my behaviour) because now I’ll be one of those people who have to watch out for Type 2 Diabetes for the rest of my damn life. That’s a lot to take in!!! Before this pregnancy I have always been healthy and taken for granted my smooth, tanned skin. Damn, reality can bite!

I felt hard done by. My diet would now be even more limited. I was having a pity party. 1% get the rash. 3-5% get Gestational Diabetes. I lost hope in all statistics. I no longer believe that if there is an extremely low risk of something happening that it means I’ll be right, mate. My body has proved that I can quite easily be in that minority.

I adjusted my diet over a week or so and finally feel confident in what I can eat or not eat. The hardest thing has been people in my life not understanding the limitations on my diet. Eating out can be difficult and people think that as long as I don’t eat cookies, cake or lollies then I’m fine. There is much more to it than that. I have to watch my carbs, the hidden sugars in almost everything we buy off supermarket shelves, even the natural sugars in fruit. All the condiments, sauces, salt content, proportioning of a meal, the timing of when I eat etc can have an effect on my blood sugar and at times I felt like I was repeating myself over and over and over. I don’t expect people to cater for me (I eat at home first or just watch them eat cake) but it did get frustrating trying to explain. I know everyone means well and I truly don’t blame them for not having the information (after all it’s not their problem). I think I just reached a level of annoyance about having the condition in the first place. Everything was getting to me. I withdrew socially for a few weeks so I could regroup and toughen up a bit. Perhaps, had I not had the rash, I might have handled it better psychologically.

This trimester we went to ante-natal class. I felt so much more relaxed afterwards. I now know more about the process at the hospital and about birth itself. How it all works, what the midwives are likely to do and different birthing positions and stories about natural births and C-sections. Taking some of the unknown out of the whole labour experience proved oddly reassuring, even though I’m sure to be in a whole world of pain and unexpected events when the time comes! The class made me realise I’m so ready for this baby.

One thing that really cheered me up socially was my baby shower! It was the first time I would see my friends in maybe a month. I was nervous about entertaining so many people at my house (I was getting to the really tired phase of pregnancy) but it was fantastic. There was SO much love in my house that day and I was on a high for days afterwards. The gifts were all gorgeous and useful. People were raving about the dessert buffet by Finn + Evie (which was planned before I found out I had diabetes) for days and I felt so spoilt. I felt overwhelmed by love and all warm and fuzzy that our baby is going to know this love soon!

Now I’m in the 36th week of pregnancy and my rash is trying to come back with a vengeance. It really loves my legs and my newly acquired stretch marks (please don’t give me advice on my skin unless you’ve had the condition – I know you mean really well and I love you for it but I can’t just whack on some bio oil or paw paw ointment yet – it’s going to be a long process and my skin is very sensitive at the moment – it’s not always that straight forward). This is difficult as I am already finding it hard to sleep. I thank my lucky stars I have my ointment this time. The weather isn’t helping at 94% humidity!!

I still have to pack my hospital bag (and one for the baby and one for the husband) but I feel ready. Once I know our little one is fully cooked, I can’t wait to get him out of me and into my arms! I want to meet him and love him and nurture him and show him off, but admittedly I am also SO over being pregnant! I want to eat what I like, wear high heels (or even nice wedges will do) and stop itching!

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My Two Cents Worth

I’ve had a big reality check with my first pregnancy. Life isn’t always smooth sailing and pregnancy is no different! I don’t want to scare any newly pregnant people with my tales of woe! It really is a lovely experience despite everything else. I just don’t believe in sugar coating it or making others feel inadequate by not being honest about my feelings and experiences. One thing that hasn’t changed through this whole process is my love for our baby. Love really can conquer all. I would tell anyone who is newly expecting that if you go with the flow and know it’s OK to not be in control, you’ll be able to get through anything. You might have dark thoughts, scary moments or feel particularly frumpy or spotty or clueless, but I promise you that you’re not alone. It’s a scary time as much as it is exciting. You just never know what will get thrown at you along the way! Just don’t beat yourself up if it’s not perfect or your thoughts aren’t all unicorns and rainbows. Everyone’s experiences are different. That woman you feel daunted by because she’s one of those seemingly perfect pregnant ladies might be hiding a multitude of conditions. She may have suffered miscarriages previously, she may be dressing so nicely to hide scars from a rash, she may not be able to eat what she likes (that might be why she seems so perfectly slim everywhere but the bump). She might just be paralysed by anxiety when she goes home at night. She might be able to keep up her paid day job forever while you feel like you can’t cope, but she may be throwing herself into work to avoid the inevitable list of baby related preparations that are seriously freaking her out.

You just don’t know, so don’t compare yourself. You’re good enough and you’ll be amazing even if there are some (big or small) bumps in the road.

I truly believe that if we’re all honest and we don’t buy into the bullsh*t that pregnancy is all glowy and blissful 100% of the time for everyone, if we take the time to listen to someone who is feeling confused or scared (or itchy!), then perhaps it won’t be so difficult and some of us might not feel so alone. Unconditional love and support has been what has got me through darker days/nights. We need to let people know they don’t have to be perfect just because it makes us feel better.

And, hey. If you have a terrifically blissful 9 months – good for you! I cannot express enough how much I am happy for you! You’re so lucky and so is your baby :)

Wish me luck for the next few weeks, lovely readers – we’re approaching crunch time!!