Mum to Trogdor

32 going on 90

2011-07-27T16:46:00.000+10:00

This is the post that suddenly made me realise how much I needed to undertake my Summer Challenge. I was trying to explain how generally blah, meh and bleh I was feeling and suddenly found myself pouring our pages of painful purple prose (I feel alliteration has been an underutilized literary device in my blog. Well, no more!). Honestly, I love a good bitch and moan but even I was surprised by the amount of "oh woe is me" that flooded out. It's only been three days but I do feel better for the lack of fried, sweet, fizzy, caffeinated, processed food in my diet. Also, getting a bit of exercise doesn't suck (afterwards. Not so much during.)

This past fortnight or so I've been feeling old. Not just tired (although I'm tired), not just achy (although I'm achy), not just heavy and stripped of energy and cranky and disillusioned and lacking in passion (shall I have a cheddar or a brie to go with my whine?) but all of those together. And old. Also PMS. Huzzah for returning fertility. Wotevs - as the cool kids say.
To quote St Paul - For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. Except while I don't do the things I want to do - have fun and exciting adventures with my family, plan my next NaNoWriMo, pray, plant rogue tomato plants around the neighbourhood - nor do I do what I hate - the housework, exercise, figure out what would be the correct punctuation for this sentence. I'm paralyzed at times by the amount of stuff that requires my attention. I start the washing up but the toys need to be put away, I start to put the toys away but the plants need to be watered, I start to water the plants but the kids really need a nappy change, then they're hungry, then Ellabo needs a nap. It's only 12.30pm but I'm exhausted and still not out of my pyjamas. James needs more of my attention at the moment and he needs a good routine but surely part of a routine is living in an organised house? So I put on a DVD to try to get the house into some sort of order ultimately neglecting him and still not getting any where in the chaos of all the kitchen cleaning, clothes folding, toy putting away that needs to be done.I know that this is just a season of life. I found caring for James difficult when he was Ella's age - old enough to be awake and wanting entertainment, not old enough to entertain themselves - and now I have a nearly eight month old baby and a nearly three year old. I'm not caught in a storm but I'm caught in a lull. Watching sea faring movies as a child I was always more terrified of the calm then the storm. A storm at least is exciting. There's some thing to battle, some thing to curse in a storm. A storm can be terrifying but it's also exhilarating. The slow death of windless days on the ocean is much scarier for me. Slowing running out of food, of water, having nothing to stare at but the horizon day after day, knowing that at the end of each day you've atrophied just a little bit more... You get my point.

So, I'm hoping I'm out of the lull, there's wind in my sails and some other sea faring thing that will serve as a metaphor for getting on with my life in a more positive manner. Of course, the house is not any cleaner...

M2T's Summer Challenge

2011-07-25T11:03:00.000+10:00

Until the 1st of December I'm going to be pursuing a healthier and more energetic life style - yes, it depresses me too. No, I haven't broken this new to Spidermonkey yet. If you want to see how I'm going check it out at M2T's Summer Challenge where I'll be blogging about it. All other parenting stuff, general ramblings and complaints will be posted here as usual i.e rarely and with no obvious fore thought.

And another thing...

2011-07-15T17:50:00.000+10:00

I'm slowly working on the story of the actual birth but there are a couple of things I left out of my 'preparation post' which I think should be mentioned. (I know, I know. A birth story should have an actual birth in it at some point. So far I have a prequel and an appendix.)

Yeah, also if you don't like this type of thing - bye bye now.

1) I had one, major, must not be broken rule for those who were supporting me in labour and that was that there was to be no discussion of the labour behind my back. If any thing needed to be said it had to be said to me first. No 'she's loud, isn't she?' 'how much longer do you think?' or 'I don't think this is working' whispers going on at any point unless I was unconscious.

2) I made up my mind that I was not going to muck around with any kind of induction. I'm sure that's part of the reason why Trogdor's birth ended as it did. This time there was to be no 'natural' induction methods - raspberry leaf tea, nipple fiddling, curry (unless I really wanted one), sex (same as for the curry), castor oil, eggplant parmigiana (no, seriously), stretch and sweeps or what have you. And no medical induction either (which is not recommended for a woman with a previous uterine scar any way). Labour started naturally, in it's own time, or I went in to surgery.

3) I really thought I might die. (Yes, I'm that overly dramatic) It got to the point where I started mentally drafting letters of farewell and apology to my friends and family. I gave that up when I realised they were all just a variation on 'Good bye, I'm sorry, Good luck." I can laugh about it now. Kind of.

4) I was worried that I would start pushing before I was properly dilated, that every thing would swell and baby would get stuck resulting in the same out come as Trogdor's birth. When I asked Rachele if she would do an internal before I started pushing, just to check, she told me that she didn't like to do internals if every thing seemed to be going well and when I had the urge to push I should just go with it. "Well," I thought, "I just won't push until she checks me. Then she'll have to do it." I can definitely laugh about that now.

5) Two or three days before labour started I sneezed and felt that mini tearing/burning/stretching sensation in my scar which I believe is caused by adhesions. It was so painful I was frozen for a minute and then instantly burst into tears. If I couldn't sneeze I was absolutely convinced I wasn't going to be able to birth.

I think that covers most thing that I left out.

To be continued....

again.

sorry.

The grave yard at the back of the fridge.

2011-06-20T19:25:00.000+10:00

Thought of the day - you know you're not going to win any house keeping awards when you find hot cross buns in the back of your fridge half way through June.

Preparing for Ella Bo Bella

2011-06-16T15:49:00.001+10:00

Okay, this isn't even the birth story. This is how I prepared for the HBAC (Home Birth After Cesarean) of EBB. It's long and probably isn't of interest to every one. However if you are planning a birth after surgery yourself, or just like this sort of thing, I hope it's useful/interesting for you. If you have any questions/comments I'm happy to reply to them*.
*Unless you're being a jerk and then I'll just delete your comment. This isn't a forum - it's a blog.

For the birth of my first child I booked into a hospital home birth program. I thought that this sort of program would offer me a 'safe' middle way between a hospital birth and the 'dangers' or being completely out of the system. I'll give you a moment to collect yourself...

I had a long and exhausting pre-labour with lots of vomiting and no sleep. My MW had just come off a long shift and was in and out of our unit every few hours in five minute bursts. The contractions became more painful but never established. I was told my son was posterior and the labour would be long and painful. My husband and I were panicked and exhausted by the time she said my son was distressed and we needed to transfer. Of course he wasn't in distress by the time we made it in! Then followed an epidural, syntocin, purple pushing for 2 hours, seeing the very top of his head in the mirror they had brought in to show me how to push and then, finally, surgery. I don't know why I could see his head and not push him out. I have no idea why the decision to have a c-sec was made.

After my surgery, like so many women, I promised myself and my future baby that next time would be different. I'm going to be honest though, right up until labour started for my second baby I wasn't sure it would be different in the sense that I'd have a 'proper' homebirth or different in that I'd just book myself in for an elective. And it wasn't until I felt her crown that I really knew that I could birth her.

Time and time again I read in VBAC stories – “I believed in my body,” “I knew I could birth this baby”. I didn't know any of that. I had trusted my body before and it had let me down.

My initial steps forward into an HBAC was decided by my idea that if I really wanted a c-sec I could turn up at a hospital at any point and tell them that's what I wanted no matter what I had previously planned but if I wanted a home birth with an independent midwife (IM) I couldn't leave my planning to the last minute. The local hospital had a successful VBAC rate of 9.8% so I knew booking in for any thing other than repeat surgery was a joke. So with a total lack of gung-ho, confidence or chutzpah I proceeded to plan for my daughter's birth.

I began to search for an IM and through a birth/parenting forum I'm a member of I met the wonderful Rachele. I think the most important thing (but not the only thing!) she provided me with during the pregnancy was the time and space to talk through my son's birth over and over again. Being able to vocalise my memories in the context of being pregnant and preparing to birth again took away a lot of their sting. It also reminded me that my surgery happened for a variety of reasons and while it might be impossible to accurately pin point the place where it went wrong there were reasons and not some bogey man sitting on my shoulder cursing me to have a bad birth.

Despite this I was still very afraid. My fear started out fairly simply – I would go through the same labour and have the same out come. Then it developed into the fear that many women with a previous uterine scar have – a catastrophic rupture. All the statistics showed how unlikely it was, how an unhindered labour and birth were better not just for myself and this baby but for any future pregnancies I might have and yet... I wanted a guarantee. I wanted to know with out doubt that every thing was going to be ok. And cowardly and immaturely, I wanted to be free of the responsibility of the outcome for myself and my baby. If some thing went wrong I wanted to be able to point to some one, any one else and say “you're to blame”. But wherever I birthed, wherever I put my trust it was ultimately my choice and my responsibility – as it is for every other pregnant woman who knowingly or unknowingly makes these decisions. (Obviously this does not extend to cases of genuine medical negligence however as a woman with previous surgery I had to be aware of certain things ie – surgery was more likely than a normal birth if I fronted up to a hospital.)

My husband had more faith in the process than I did. He'd tell me that we were more likely to be in a car accident driving to the hospital than being injured having a birth at home. It didn't help that I was a fairly nervous driver! Finally it was advise from my longest standing friend that helped me to let go: “Every one starts labour at home any way so you might as well stay there for as long as you feel comfortable with that. If you need a second opinion then that's what you have a midwife for. It's silly to do yourself out of some thing you want because you're afraid.” I resolved to play the cards that had been given to me. If every thing progressed normally I would push a baby out where the labour commenced. If not I'd go to the hospital but there was nothing that fear would achieve. This became the theme of my pregnancy – letting go of fear.

I started to accept that there was nothing any one could tell me, any book I could read or study that I could memorise that was going to guarantee me a good outcome. 'Knowledge' was not my talisman against evil. All I could do was stack the odds in the favour of myself and my baby knowing that even a 99% success rate still allows for a 1% failure rate. At 31 it's a bit odd to think of taking further steps into adulthood but I feel that during this pregnancy I became more mature in my outlook on life as a whole.

My local GP was actually of great assistance to me. Every time I saw her – be it for me or my son or husband – she would keep insisting that there were things I 'had' to do. Tests that 'needed' to be done. Things I 'needed' her for. Each time she talked over the top of me, talked down to me, was not able to provide me with further information as to the 'whys' behind certain routines being followed or the potential side effects of tests I became more firmly convinced that having an IM was gold class care and that the current medical model was better suited for cattle than women. Honestly, if she had been knowledgeable, compassionate or in any way interested in my pregnancy beyond it being a mechanical event or in me as a person rather than a potential pathological case I would have struggled with my reasons for avoiding the medical establishment. However, she gave me some thing to 'kick' against and over all I am stronger for having to defend myself. In the end I had two scans to check for the placement of the placenta and I monitored my own blood sugar. I did not have bloods taken and I did not have the GD test. Rachele took my blood pressure each time we met and used a doppler to check the baby's heart beat from around sixteen weeks. I decided on every test I would have or not making my decision based on careful research. Nothing was done 'just because'.

The thought that kept returning to me however was that I simply could not imagine enduring the pain of labour all the way through to the end. I'm not stoic and I don't aspire to stoicism. How could I experience what I was sure was going to be much more pain than my first labour without relief? I prayed a lot. St Jude – the patron saint of hopeless cases - heard from me quite frequently (but we've been friends for awhile :) ). I enlisted other women – one woman from the birth/parenting forum and an old school friend – to pray for me. I thought about Mary freebirthing in a shed full of animals after riding for days on a donkey. And I thought of all of the millions of women before me who had birthed knowing it was literally do or die. They didn't have to think about resisting the temptation of epidurals, they weren't burdened with trimesters or 'post dates', if they weren't dilating at exactly 1cm per hour then they just didn't – you went into labour and birthed because there was no other options. I tried to see myself as being like them. Of course, if I or my baby were at risk I would go to hospital but if I had an intervention it would up the odds of every thing else fucking up. So I had to do every thing in my power to stay at home and stay safe.

I got to 40 weeks. I was frustrated because from the start I felt that this baby was going to be coming closer to 39 weeks. At 40+3 mum called and told me not to let the pregnancy go on too long. Then at 40+4 she rang and asked if it was okay for her to come the next day to spend the weekend with me. This was challenging. It's the first rule of homebirthing isn't it? Protect your space. How could I home birth with a house guest? On another level I felt like this was a vote of 'no confidence'. Mum told me later that she had a strong feeling that she was 'needed'. Mum has often had these sorts of intuitions and they're right often enough for me to have learnt not to roll my eyes when she says it.

Then I figured that this was just life. Mum comes to stay quite frequently during the year and it's always good to have her here. So what if I'm expecting to go into labour? I wasn't planning on putting any other part of my life on hold so why shouldn't my mother visit? I also figured that if I were really uncomfortable with her staying I just wouldn't go into labour at all! Mum promised to vacate to a hotel if labour started and I told her that she wasn't to stress me out while she was here :)

So mum arrived on the Friday afternoon. I was not expecting anything to happen until the following Tuesday. That night, at 40+6, I was woken about 6 times with period like pain in my abdomen...

To be continued...

Fail

2011-06-14T01:06:00.000+10:00

Just tried to 'follow' another blog. Ended up 'following' my own blog. The definition of narcissism. Well bollocks. It's too late and I'm too tired to try to fix it.

Hideeho Good Neighbours

2011-06-09T10:34:00.000+10:00

Hello to every one who is taking the time to drop by my humble blog.
From the stats it seems as though I have had visitors from Australia, the USA, China and Germany this week alone! Thanks so much for dropping by :)

In a totally platonic way of course. No tongue. (That means you people from Germany!) (Just kidding)

Zoom zoom zoom

2011-06-08T16:12:00.001+10:00

I'm a timid driver. Timid to the point where I think I should buy a soft felt hat so the motorists behind me have no misconceptions about exactly how slowly I intend to drive. It takes me five minutes to change lanes. I will drive behind an L plater doing 60 in a 90 zone rather than over take. Trust me, you don't want to be travelling behind me. Which is fine because I don't want you behind me either. Nor do I want you infront of me. Infact, it would be better for every one if we could just clear the road entirely. Please?
But in my heart dear reader it is a very different story. In my heart I am a master of the road. I merge through three lanes of traffic with out hesitation. I zoom around corners with out gripping on to the wheel like grim death. In my heart I drive a manual.
I was making my way home late one night when I felt the rumble of a mighty sub woofer from some where in the distance. I felt the music before I heard it. I had just exited the highway when a car materialized behind me, streaked past at what must have been close to 120km, merged through four lanes of traffic with out indicating (and I suspect with out looking), turned left with out slowing down and disappeared with a flash of blue as it entered light speed (okay, I may have over stated that last bit). I was so shaken that I nearly had a panic attack behind the wheel. I mean really! How dangerous! How irresponsible! How freaking cool*.
I don't want to be a speed demon. I don't want to be an incautious driver.
But I'd like to think I would be able to... should I ever want to.
So my fellow driver I take my pink felted hat off to you. Could you give me some pointers on reverse parking?

The Driver I Am

The Driver I Would Like To Be

*I'd just like to make clear should I or any member of my family be injured or killed because of an accident caused by such a knob jockey I would be extremely angry and upset. Of course I don't really want to be such an idiot driver in the same way you, dear reader, don't want to have a light saber to chop down people who annoy you (except of course, you kinda do. Don't you? But not really.)

Hell is other people and all of them have blogs.

2011-06-07T09:39:00.000+10:00

Ella has been in a feeding frenzy for the last 24 hours. Being pretty much confined to the sofa for large parts of the day gave me time to trawl through other blogs. Such a mistake. Don't want to feel fat? Don't buy fashion mags. Don't want to feel old? Don't be friends with people younger than yourself on Facebook. Don't want to feel like a failure as a parent, a slob as a house keeper, totally under accomplished in every single aspect of your life including in some areas which you never realised should be part of your life? Don't read blogs. It's not that these people are wizards with a glue gun, inspired play mates to and educators of their off spring, wonderful and frugal chefs and able to 'repurpose' old curtains into first communion dresses for their daughters it's that they are so freaking cheerful and organised and Pollyanna about every bloody thing. You know what it is? It's honest to goodness, darn tootin' wholesomeness. It makes me want to inject heroin into my eye.
Example - one woman decided to repaint her laundry. The previous colour was too 'country' so she decided to re paint it 'milk'. Well, that clashed with the colour of the the window sill so she repainted the whole thing again to some thing more 'exotic'. What's on my laundry's walls? Lint. Had it ever occurred to me that a laundry could be 'country' or 'exotic' or any thing other than a place where you keep your washer and drier? Nope.
They organise their kids lunches into muffin trays in rainbow themed colours instead of throwing whatever doesn't look too ratty in the fridge onto a hastily rinsed plate. They turn old dresses into blouses into a girl's skirt into a doll's overalls. These become heirlooms and carefully packed away in moth balls until their own daughters produce the next generation of happy home makers. They decorate jam jars with buttons and lace cut offs so that their husbands find their breakfast tray prettier. Ask me what my husband has for breakfast. I don't know. I'm not up by then.
But the real question is why? Not why do they do it - I don't care why they do it. But why does it bother me that they do it at all?
I think because deep down it's because I'm a pretendy adult. I'm not really grown up. I'm not really responsible. Things that adults should know or do - how to use a lawn mower, change a tire, toilet train a 2.5 year old, make a consumme, know what a consumme is, who to call when the smoke detector won't stop beeping, make a pair of lounge pants from an old T-shirt, recover a lamp shade or a sofa, remember to wash the sheets once a week, do the washing up twice a day, getting the Christmas tree up before Christmas Eve and down before Lent - I have no idea about. I've been on my red P plates for awhile now. When am I meant to move on to my greens? No idea.
Deep down I think I will know that I'm an adult when I can do every thing I remember my own mother doing. I suspect that she is the imprint in my mind of what a real proper grown up woman is like. So I guess it's reasonable to assume I will be that same imprint for Ella.
Who knows? Maybe she'll appreciate how far I've lowered the bar.

Trodgor and Ella Bo Bella

2011-06-06T11:28:00.001+10:00

People are different. I know this. I have met many people in my life. And you know what? They were all different. Even people who are twins. Even people who are twins, were separated at birth, reunited at 41, featured on Oprah where a big deal is made out of the fact they're both over weight truckers, with a penchant for checked shirts, married to women called Joan who also look like they're twins (to each other, not to the truckers) - even those people are different.
Maybe it's because I'm an only child. Maybe I just lack imagination. But every day I am surprised all over again by how different Troggers and EBB are from each other. I knew there would be boy/girl differences. I knew there would be age differences. But deep down I kinda thought that EBB would be more-or-less just a version of Trogdor. Yeah... not so much

1. Differences in the pregnancy. Warning - vomit is mentioned frequently in the next paragraph.
For Troggers I experienced a day or two of feeling queasy and I got a bad cold at around 6 months. All in all it was a breezy, easy pregnancy which I smugly and mistakenly put down to my own will power. While I was pregnant with Ella I did not experience a vomit free trimester. First trimester = 'morning' sickness which occurred at night as I was trying to get home from work. Many a journey was interrupted by me fleeing from the bus to vomit into public bins. Classy. Second trimester = three stomach bugs and a cough which was so violent it would trigger my gag reflex and I would vomit. Third trimester - reflux like I can't even describe. Vomiting stomach acid is less fun than vomiting any thing else I can think of. I lost 7kg by the end of the pregnancy.
Troggers was also a very busy baby. He would kick and kick and kick. It was like he was building extensions in there. When he pushed his little arm or leg out I was never sure if it were a limb or if he had just finished erecting a pagoda. Ella was a much more chilled baby. Occasionally she'd roll over. Every now and then she might have a stretch. At times the doppler would pick up refrains of what sounded like "Don't worry be happy" echoing in the waters...

2. Differences in the first month. Trogdor was awake and alert and just thrilled to be on the other side of the womb. Ella slept. In every 24 hour period she was awake for maybe 6 hours all up. At the end of the first month I felt like I had hardly bonded with her at all. In fact some times it surprised me to find a baby on my boob, asleep in my bed or in the pram as I pushed it down the street. As a mother of a new born I never expected my first reaction to hearing my little one cry to be "Oh that's right. I've had another one."

3. Boob is no longer a cure-all. Whatever was wrong with Trogdor, whether he were hungry, sad, happy, scared, bored, sick, tired, suffering existential angst, it could all be fixed by popping a boob in his mouth. Ella is not so easily placated. Honestly I can see now that in life pre-EBB I completely believed every thing could be solved by lots of boob and lots of co-sleeping. EBB has taught me better. Of course, she might want boob but only if she's hungry. Conversely she might need to be carried so she can see over your shoulder room to room until she falls asleep. It's possible that her nappy is ever so slightly damp and must be changed IMMEDIATELY. She could need to lie in a darkened room while some one gently kisses her face. She might need to be carried cradled in arms listening to Prog Rock (Porcupine Tree for preference). Do not attempt to play Pop at this point. It will not be received well. In short she is a baby of decided tastes and she accepts no substitutions.

4.Sickness. Trogdor was better at being sick. When Trogdor had a cold all he needed was some one to sleep next to him and he would tough it out. Not so with EBB. Gentle whispers of "It's alright. Mummy's here" in the middle of the night are greeted with hysterical wails. "Yes woman, I know you're there," her little shrieks seem to say, "now how are you going to fix me?"

5. Nom noms. EBB loves her food. Trogdor spent weeks staring at us while we were eating and making little chewing movements with his mouth. When we finally let him have some pureed apple he was kind of interested but the novelty value wore off pretty quickly. EBB on the other hand really didn't seem to be all that enthused at the idea of eating solids but one day I tentatively offered her some mushy fruit just to see what she thought. I nearly lost my hand. She loves to eat. Already she's desperate to move on from fruit and keeps eyeing off her brother's Vegemite toast. Maybe she'll be Australia's youngest Masterchef?

The fact is the biggest difference between them is that she is my Ella Bo Bella and he is my Trogdor. It seems silly now to expect them to be similar to each other when they are so busy being themselves. They are so unique and perfectly their own person. It seems amazing and yet so obvious that I could scour the world and I would never find them replicated. It's an amazing gift and a profound responsibility.

Welcome Ella Bo Bella

2011-06-01T14:27:00.000+10:00

Yes, I know. I'm never here, I never write and I suck. In my defense I've been a bit busy. Who could think about blogging with some thing so gorgeous and time consuming in the house?

Ella Bo Bella was born on the 27th of November 2010 at home, in the water after a quick and intense labour. I was supported by Spidermonkey, my great friend Tyd, my Mum and my midwife Rachele (if you're in NSW and looking for an awesome midwife contact me and I'll pass on her details). Her birth story just keeps getting more epic each time I revisit it. One day I'll finish it and post it up.
It's hard to believe that she's six months old already. She and Trogdor are thick as thieves and will shortly put their plans for world domination into action.

A script for bedtime

2010-08-01T23:07:00.000+10:00

TROGDOR: Mummy is trying to put me to bed! Oh no! Mummy is trying to put me to bed!! The horror! The horror!!!! Quick, some one call DOCS! Yell, yell. Scream, scream. Get away from me you horrible harpy woman!! Evil!! [Continue for a good 30 minutes]

[enter SPIDERMONKEY]

TROGDOR: Daddy is trying to put me to bed. Oh. Zzzzz.

The news. (Which is more like olds)

2010-07-24T13:11:00.000+10:00

Well, how totally slack am I? While there are so many in the blogosphere who manage to post at least semi regularly while also dealing with a dozen kids, four jobs and a collection of farm animals (possibly over stated - all though that Dugger woman seems to be online quite often) I can't even be bothered to get on here to post big news.
So, although every one who knows me/is a FB friend is already aware and I can't imagine who else would be reading this blog, I'm pregnant again. Home star's ETA is early summer. Yes, this is all the EDD you'll be getting. Don't even ask. Morning sickness has been much worse this time around which, I guess, serves me right for being so smug about it during Trogdor's gestation when I was hardly queasy at all. My main learning so far has been that vomiting hummous out of your nose at a bus stop in the middle of the night isn't even as fun as it sounds.
In other news, I'm replanting my garden, Spidermonkey has learnt how to throw a mean tantrum and Spidermonkey's dog just got a level in Dragon Age. I'm nodding at the last one like I understand it...

The doctor is out

2010-03-19T23:02:00.000+11:00

Medical insights from a child I teach:

"If I feel sick it's good if I bleed because it gets the germs out. I was feeling sick today but luckly I scraped a scab off because it meant the germs came out and I felt better."

What ever works kid.

Woe is me

2010-03-18T23:34:00.000+11:00

I have a head cold. I hate head colds. Head colds suck...

I know there are people who are actually battling with actual terrible diseases but head colds do really suck...

And for a total lack of sympathy from people around you they are second only to the hang over. "Take a cold and flu," people say. Thanks to pregnancy/breastfeeding I haven't been able to take a cold and flu tablet for 26+ months...

And they were my favourite over the counter medicine...

And mum was planning on coming down this weekend but is now not sure she'll be able to leave home as a cyclone is threatening. I told her that it seemed like a perfect time to leave. She replied, "but I couldn't leave your father." I suggested she get another ticket. "But I couldn't leave the dog." ...

And I'm home alone with a baby who thinks that as soon as the sun sets it's time to get down and boogie...

And I have a head cold...

If it wasn't Lent I'd totally be eating my way through this.

And where do you think you've been, young lady?

2009-12-14T09:04:00.000+11:00

I've rather let the cobwebs grow around here for the last month and a bit. But I have a good excuse! No really.
I was undertaking a wonderful piece of crazyness - Nanowrimo. For those of you who can't be bothered to click on a link, Nanowrimo (or simply Nano to its friends) is the National Novel Writing Month where a person undertakes to write a 50 000 word novel over the month of November. As much as I have missed rambling away in my blog the idea of writing any thing that didn't contribute towards my word count gave me the heebie jeebies. I could barely bring myself to update my facebook status.

And guess what? I did it! It is 30 000 words longer than any thing else I have ever written in my life.

If you break it down, the challenge is to write a minimum of 1667 words each day for 30 days. As a former arts student, churning out that amount in an hour or so isn't really that hard. It's doing it every day come rain, hail, teething babies, end of year plays, writers block, couldn't be bothered-ness or shine that is the issue. But I got through it!

What did I get out of it?
1) A 50 000 word novel that I would not otherwise have written.
2) A certificate I printed out to certify "M2T author of Pendragon 2025 a WINNER of the 2009 National Novel Writing Month contest" which is blu tacked over my computer desk.
3) An appreciation of what just a little dedicated work each day can achieve.

"So," I hear you ask, "have you finished your novel? Are you carefully tending and nurturing it into a fully fledged book? Are you pursuing the editing process with heartful verve and vigour?"
"Umm," I answer. "No?"

But, gentle reader, there are plans afoot! And hopefully once the Christmas insanity has died down a little you might hear more of my crazy little project. Or possibly you might not. We will just have to wait and see.

Sexual Assault Prevention Tips Guaranteed to Work!

2009-10-12T17:32:00.000+11:00

Found on a blog. Very useful tips to prevent assault.

Sexual Assault Prevention Tips Guaranteed to Work!

1. Don’t put drugs in people’s drinks in order to control their behavior.
2. When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone!
3. If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them!
4. NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.
5. If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, DON’T ASSAULT THEM!
6. Remember, people go to laundry to do their laundry, do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.
7. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.
8. Always be honest with people! Don’t pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the other person may take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.
9. Don’t forget: you can’t have sex with someone unless they are awake!
10. Carry a whistle! If you are worried you might assault someone “on accident” you can hand it to the person you are with, so they can blow it if you do.
And, ALWAYS REMEMBER: if you didn’t ask permission and then respect the answer the first time, you are commiting a crime — no matter how “into it” others appear to be.

More parent's room reviews

2009-10-09T12:09:00.002+11:00

This one is from Myer in Bankstown. Overall it's quite a good room and I tend to visit here rather than the one that is part of Bankstown Centro.
It features pretty much all mod cons. If you look to your right you will see a sink.

The wall pictures are quite good even if Dora's foot appears to be coming out of her stomach.
If we are out for more than a couple of hours I will bring Trogdor here to crawl around on the carpet and play with the blue thingy on the wall. Honestly, I don't know how clean the carpet is but I trust each time he plays here his immune system gets that little bit stronger.

I'm not sure I see the point of having so many bins to so few change mats. It seems like they are prepared to not have the bins cleaned out all that often. On the other hand it's only rarely that the room smells like too many nappies.

A microwave. I assume it works.

The 'private' feeding room. This room seats two people and does not lock. It has another blue play station thing attached to the wall for older children while baby is having a feed. Honestly, the chairs are not the best for feeding. They are not particularly comfortable and once you have a bigger baby (or a humongous baby in the case of Troggers) you spend the feed trying to support their head off the hard, uncomfortable arm rests while your hand gets squished against the hard, uncomfortable arm rest. The Thomas picture has been both a blessing and a curse for me. Little one was fascinated with it from the first time he saw it but it also distracted him from booba. So after we went in we had to spend five minutes standing in front of Thomas while Troggers patted and cooed to him and then we could settle down to our feed but ONLY if Thomas was either a) totally out of Trogger's line of sight or b) directly in front of him. If he was there but obscured Trogdor would keep pulling off to get a better view. There are chairs available in the change/play room as well.

The toilets. The room is quite large and you could easily bring both a pram and a shopping trolley in with you if you needed to.

High chairs in the changing/play room with another Thomas.

And there you have it. My second review.

Happy Birthday Trogdor!

2009-10-04T22:05:00.000+11:00

Today little boy turned one. The family is now in a sugar induced haze in front of the TV - all except little boy who has very sensibly decided to pass out in his cot. A few notes of the happy event.

a) Rather than the picnic we had originally planned, family and friends crowded in to our little apartment to escape the rain outside.
b) Troggers scored some excellent pressies which ~~Spidermonkey and I~~ he will love playing with.
c) In line with family tradition we totally over catered and will be eating left over chicken/salad/slices until Christmas.
d) Mum made possibly the best hippopotamus cake in the history of the world that wasn't actually made from hippopotamus.

e) Little boy had his first tiny bite of cake. Which he spat out. He prefers watermelon.
f) Little boy was surrounded by many of the people I hope will be there for his party next year, and the year after that. People I hope he will know and love as he grows up.
g) Trogger's cousin and Babydonk were there. It was amazing having 3 babies in the house - all feeding, crying, laughing, playing and sleeping at various times. We had 11 adults in the house and it still didn't feel like we had enough hands. Much kudos to parents of multiples!

It was a bitter sweet day. Thinking back to what I was doing a year ago (sad and happy thoughts). Imagining forward to what we will be doing in a years time (exciting, scary and happy thoughts).

There are a few things that you are told you will never understand until you become a parent. The first is that you won't know your capacity to love until you have a child. The second is you won't know how tired, frustrated and clueless you will feel after you have a child. The third is how quickly they seem to grow up. Every one is right by the way. Especially about the growing up thing.

I mean seriously, how do you go from this -

To this -

in a year?

It's a YouTube-y type of day...

2009-09-25T11:54:00.001+10:00

Don't think it should be titled 'Why Moms Can't Do Yoga'. Maybe 'Mom Finds a Way To Get Better Let Down'.

This.is.AMAZING

2009-09-25T09:35:00.001+10:00

Check this out.

A game

2009-09-24T10:05:00.004+10:00

The girls in the teenage class introduced me to a new game. The game is called 'Penis'. The aim of the game is to say the word 'penis' more loudly (louder?) than the last person who said it. Essentially it's a room full of people screaming 'penis' at the top of their lungs.
They started this game during rehearsals for the end of year play. I asked them to stop before somebody called DOCS.
Nobody mentioned how to deal with these sort of things while I was at uni.

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

2009-09-22T23:24:00.000+10:00

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down,
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

~ Mary Oliver ~

Parent's Room Adventures

2009-09-21T10:16:00.006+10:00

For an able bodied person with out a pram the world is your oyster - provided it's an oyster that's easy to get around and doesn't require lifts or travellators. For a person with a pram the world is shrunk to those places with 'disability access'.
A mother with a new baby doesn't go from home to city to shop to cafe. Instead it's more like - home to parent's room to shop near parent's room to cafe with room for pram and also near parents room.*
When Troggers was born I had a shocking time with my supply (for the uninitiated that means I wasn't producing enough breast milk). I was using one of these which involved sticky taping tubes to my breast whilst simultaneously getting a new born to latch properly while not letting all the milk run out over my shirt. Sigh. Fun times. So I was reluctant to feed in public and parenting rooms which were pleasant to sit in and clean became very important. (Since then I have fed in planes, train and automobiles but that's an entirely different post)
Some issues immediately presented themselves:
1) Not all parenting rooms are created equal.
2) Some are just glorified toilets. Infact, some make toilets look like havens of hygiene.
3) Some parenting rooms are obviously designed by people who have never had children. Or have met any children. Or ever were children.
4) No one wants to tell you where the good ones are.
So, in an effort to make this blog a little bit useful to mums I am going to start doing parent's room reviews.

This parent's room is found near JB HiFi in the Galeries Victoria in the City. It's my favourite City parent's room at the moment.

The pros:
1) It is a bit of a secret so it's very rarely used.

2) Every time I have been there it has been clean and it smells fresh. No over full nappy bin smell!

3) It has a button to open the door as you go in. I hate struggling with doors and a pram.

4) The toilet is large enough to wheel the pram in with you. Crazily enough some parent's rooms seem to expect you to leave the pram outside while you go to the loo.

5) It has one of these thingys. I've never used it and I assume it's only useful if you have a bottle of food rather than something stored in tupperware.

6) It has a sink and change tray/table/fold away thingy.

Cons:
1) It only has one chair to breastfeed in and it's out in the open. As very few people go there it wasn't a huge issue for me. The chair itself is comfortable and roomy.
If you're very lucky Trogdor's feet might appear next to you.

So, there you go. My first review.

* Having one of these is a life saver at times but as Trogdor was 13kg by 7 months a big day out meant I needed to have a pram with me.

With silver bells and cockle shells

2009-09-18T09:23:00.017+10:00

Thought I would post an update on my gardening adventures.
Even though we are on the second floor of a block of units the balcony is now never referred to as 'the balcony' - it is 'the garden'. Each morning Trogdor and I inspect the garden together i.e I look at the plants and he eats dirt. In the evening I check the garden again to make sure nothing has wilted or been devoured. I'm a trifle obsessive about it these days.
It all started in June of this year when I thought I would pick up a couple of dwarf fruit trees to provide a bit of greenery and (hopefully) fruit. Then I decided to try to grow tomatoes. Things just sort of got out of hand from there.
I began well before I had any idea of what I was doing. The majority of the 'hardware' (the polystyrene boxes, large tubs, drink-bottle-watering-cans and packing crates) have been 're-purposed' after I found them lying on footpaths around the suburb. I like to think of it as 'County Garden meets Mad Max'.
Some of my garden has been grown from seed (which I think is a hella impressive even if the plants themselves aren't) and some of them are from seedlings (less impressive effort with a more impressive result).
From seeds:

Roma Tomato seedlings. The white around the base is potash which is meant to be very good for them but no two gardeners can decide when is the best time to apply them to the plant.

The first of my basil seeds to germinate.

The first of my 'Cottage Mix' flower baskets. I should be thinning the seedlings but I'm just going to let them grow and see what happens. (Is it odd that I feel horribly guilty after chopping out perfectly healthy plants?)

The second of my flower baskets. This one was sown more thinly with seeds so we'll see how it goes.

Beetroot. Has been thinned. Needs more thinning. (I feel like my garden is on some sort of Jenny Craig ad.)

Coriander.

Marigolds. These desperately need to be thinned out. My plan is to replant them into little pots this weekend and give them out as presents.

My snow peas. They have been growing like crazy and are my most impressive seed grown plants.

Things I didn't grow from seed:

Passion fruit. I think it has some sort of fungal whatzi so I've been spraying it with whatzi fungal pesticide. It's going to need a much bigger container if it's going to grow. Luckily I have some 're-purposed' 20L Omo buckets.

Parsley. Needs re-potting. I have also been growing parsley from seed but it's harder than I thought it would be. Apparently the seeds have a very low germination rate and even if they do germinate I've found them to be quite temperamental (they just die for no discernible reason)

Dwarf lemon tree. Lots of flowers. All the other lemons in the area are covered with fruit so I don't know if the little guy is a bit backward.

Broccoli. I have to remove the middle row and re-pot them. Note to new gardeners - pay attention to the spacing guidelines when you're planting!

Asparagus. I have no idea how to grow asparagus. Apparently it will be another two years before it starts growing spears and only if I chop it all back, mulch it, replant it, give it lots/little/no water and/or fertilizer, sacrifice a goat to the asparagus gods... Plus, it's covered in tiny bugs. I don't think they're meant to be there.

An amused Trogdor, who can't understand why I don't get my food from booba like sensible people do.
(He should probably be in the 'grown from seed' section')

My three strawberry plants with one flower between them.

Spring onions.

My peach tree - formerly known as 'stick in a bag'.

I have also developed an interest in heirloom/heritage tomatoes. I have a few seedlings struggling away at the moment but they're a bit depressing really.

And there you have it folks. My garden.

Possibly the greatest song ever written.

2009-09-15T09:36:00.004+10:00

Music has the power to soothe, energize and uplift. It is a wordless language that manages to speak to human emotions - some would say to their very souls.
But out of all the music written through out prehistory up until the present day which is the greatest? Which song can soothe the wild beast, calm inner turmoil and even let you feed a cranky 11 month old or give you enough time to change a pooey nappy before he tries to flip over and crawl away, bare bummed and fancy free?
Why this song of course:

By the 50th listening you might think you have discovered all the song has to offer and by the 100th you may be at the verge of convincing yourself you hate it but I beg you, gentle reader, push through to the 200th or even 250th listening. Become one with the music, the lyrics.
Understand what it is that truly drives us. Understand the nature of hope and desire. Understand what it is to want a hippopotamus for Christmas.

Is it just me or does any one else think it looks like the trombonist has shat in his instrument?

BMs with Dr Seuss

2009-09-10T09:08:00.003+10:00

Pooey Poos for Pooey Pooing
That's what that Poo Poose is doing
Do you choose to poo poo too, sir?
If Sir, you Sir, choose to poo sir
With the Poo Poose, poo Sir
Do Sir. *

*I realise these posts are just getting stranger.

Freud would have a field day...

2009-09-09T10:30:00.004+10:00

In my dream last night a gay friend of mine was pregnant. Except Phillip is a man.
Apparently he had decided to be a surrogate for another gay couple and had a fetus implanted via IVF. The act of carrying the fetus released various hormones in him which caused him to spontaneously grow a uterus. (No, I don't know where he kept it before then. A shoe box maybe?)
I was absolutely gutted in my dream because after a 48 hour labour with no pain relief he managed to have a natural birth.
The last image I have of my dream is of me passionately telling some-one, a doctor maybe?, that it wasn't really a natural birth because after all, Phillip's a man.
Awesome. Apparently my subconscious hates me.

The Mother of All Rallies

2009-09-07T09:54:00.003+10:00

There will be a rally today in Canberra. Briefly, it is about this -

Currently the House of Representatives is debating the Health Legislation Amendment (Midwives and Nurse Practitioners) Bill 2009 and two related bills to create Medicare funding, access to the Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme and Indemnity insurance support for midwives. If passed into legislation in their current they will not provide funding or indemnity for homebirth midwives. This legislation will then intersect with National Health Registration legislation (to come into force in July next year) that will require all health professionals to hold indemnity insurance. This will prevent midwives providing homebirth care from registering and thus make their homebirth practice unlawful.

I'm not there because I doubt Trogdor's ability to tolerate the car trip and I foretell a massive burnination by the end of the day. I wish I were though.
Let's be clear here. This legislation won't stop homebirths from happening. All it will do is force homebirth underground (no, not giving birth in mines) (although...)
When I planned my homebirth for Trogdor (which didn't work out, as it happened) I had a trained midwife who brought with her - a Doppler to listen to Troggers heartbeat during labour; resus equipment in case Troggers wasn't breathing at birth; syntocin in case I hemorrhaged; sutures in case I tore; a birthpool because they are cool and a whole lot of other stuff. If I want a home birth next time guess what I get? Probably nothing. No midwife. No medical support. No right to push a baby out of my own body where ever I see fit with the support I feel I might need.
Let me put it this way. Did banning homosexuality, inter racial marriages or the practicing of different faiths (among others) prevent any of these things from happening? Nope. And whatever my personal opinions about those things I'm not going to support the government in effectively outlawing them.
Look, homebirth isn't for every one. I know that. Believe me, it was a hell of surprise when I realised it was what I wanted to do. I know that many women, despite the arguments in favour of a homebirth, would rather be at a hospital and I'm fine with that. I'm not going to turn up at your home as your labour starts to chain you to the bed and force you to listen to whale music. But don't force me to get into a car and go to a hospital during a normal labour.

For those with concerns about the safety of homebirth you might want to check out these links.

I cried to dream again...

2009-09-06T19:42:00.003+10:00

Last night I had a dream. A person who had died turned out not to have died at all. For over a year we had all thought he was dead but no! Last night, in my dream, he returned and was planning on meeting all of his old friends and surprising them with his sudden appearance. As I woke up I had in my mind the list of people I was going to call to tell them the good news. And then I realised...

Note I pinched from Facebook

2009-08-31T15:30:00.004+10:00

1. What time did you get up this morning?
The first time? Around 2am.

2. How do you like your steak?
Paid for by some-one else.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Harry Potter and the Half Arsed Adaptation

4. What is your favorite TV show?
Don't watch heaps of TV. Loved the Battle Star Gallactica series. Currently enjoying Stephen Fry in America.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
Rome. Hands down.

6. What did you have for breakfast?
Strawberries and ricotta. Cos I can.

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
Thai.

8. What foods do you dislike?
Prawn cutlets. If you have a perfectly good prawn why put it in breadcrumbs? And if you don't have a good prawn you're probably best to avoid eating it at all.

9. Favorite Place to Eat?
Rome :)

10. Favorite dressing?
Chocolate. Dressing/topping - same thing right?

11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
Phil and Ted 3 Wheeler. (It's a pram to all you non-parents)

12. What are your favorite clothes?
Spidermonkey's old T-shirts. M2T burninates fashion.

13. Where would you visit if you had the chance?
Italy, Prague, Spain.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
Knocked over and rolling about the floor followed by a laughing Trogdor.

15. Where would you want to retire?
Umm... Rome? (I'm sure I've made this point)

16. Favorite time of day?
Nap time! (Mine or Troggers - doesn't bother me)

17. Where were you born?
London.

18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
Ah ha ha ha. Oh wait, you're serious?

19. Who do you think will not tag you back?
Yeah, cos this was taken from facebook this question no longer makes sense.

20. Person you expect to tag you back first?
Rome!

21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this?
Rome again!

22. Bird watcher?
Only if they're trying to swoop me.

23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Neither

24. Do you have any pets?
No. Sigh.

25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
My peach tree is starting to bloom.

26. What did you want to be when you were little?
Monkey Magic.

27. What is your best childhood memory?
I had a pretty good childhood all round.

28. Are you a cat or dog person?
Dog.

29. Are you married?
Yes

30. Always wear your seat belt?
Yes.

31. Been in a car accident?
Nope.

32. Any pet peeves?
People chewing with their mouths open. The sound drives me crazy. CRAZY!!!

33. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
Chocolate - see point 10.

34. Favorite Flower?
Magnolias at the moment.

35. Favorite ice cream?
Hokey Pokey!

36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
The kebab shop across from the train station.

37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
I'll let you know.

38. From whom did you get your last email?
Facebook. How tragic.

39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
If I had a credit card - Kinokuniya.

40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
Gave Troggers a big kiss.

41. Like your job?
Yup.

42. Broccoli?
Still growing.

43. What was your favorite vacation?
Trip to Italy.

44. Last person you went out to dinner with?
Spidermonkey.

45. What are you listening to right now?
Trogdor eating avocado on toast.

46. What is your favorite color?
Red.

47. How many tattoos do you have?
None

48. How many are you tagging for this quiz?
Any one who reads this. So... one? Maybe :)

49. What time did you finish this quiz?
3.51

50. Coffee Drinker?
Yes, yes and more yes.

And then an odd thought struck me...

2009-08-31T14:33:00.003+10:00

Trogdor loves to crawl. He's so proud of his latest accomplishment and he has an uncanny sense of, and attraction to, every thing he shouldn't get into.
I was out watering my garden this morning (it's going very well, thank you for asking) when I heard the fly screen door shut behind me. Sure enough, there was little Trogdor opening and shutting the door with great joy. He was having a wonderful time but alas, I knew that the sad conclusion of this game would be crushed fingers unless I intervened. So, being the dutiful, doting mother type, I went inside and picked him up. Of course Troggers, being the 11 month old baby type, chucked a tanty. His favourite trick is to put both feet against me, as far up my body as he can manage, and push away. This time he managed to get his hands involved too.
So there am I, trying frantically to hold onto this baby who is absolutely hating me with all the power in his little body while my stomach and breasts are being pummelled and yet I know that to give him what he wants (variously to be let go or to continue playing with the door) would result in injury to him and I would much prefer he hurt me - because I love him. This all lasted for no more than 15 seconds until he collapsed against my chest, crying and needing comfort.
And as he glared up at me - totally not able to comprehend how I could be so cruel as to deprive him of his fun and beginning to nuzzle for booba at the same time - I thought "I bet God feels like this about us too".*

* A note to any theologians reading this blog - please don't bother teasing out all the inaccurate theological implications of this post. Or, at least, do it your own blog.
* A note to any atheists reading this blog - we don't agree. I'm good with that.

Good times

2009-08-29T11:20:00.002+10:00

I have a chocolate cherry cheesecake baking in the oven, a messy kitchen I have no plans on cleaning and I've spent the last hour laying on the bed blowing raspberries with my son.

My balcony garden

2009-08-27T08:59:00.004+10:00

Ever since I was a little 'un I have had a dream. A dream of verdant landscapes; fecund, hanging vines; quiet, green and lush nooks bespeckled by peeping flowers. A dream of a garden I had planted which not only didn't die - thrived.
I do have a green-ish thumb. Not vibrant green by any means. A faint green. Sort of like that blush of green on bread after it's been left on the bench after breakfast on a humid day. I have a mouldy green thumb.
I have had quite a few gardens since I was a kid. I'm okay with herbs. In terms of veg over the years I have successfully harvested a few tomatoes, a lettuce and a few handfuls of snow peas. In the back yard at my parents place there have been mangoes, bush lemons, macadamia nuts, peaches (unusual in the tropics) and custard apples but I can't take any credit for that. I enjoyed their fruits and managed not to kill them. Most of the trees were there when we moved in and a few of them are there still.
The initial stages of putting in a garden are fine. I can get seeds to germinate. But then I get busy - generally with theatre. Now that Trogdor is taking up my time I figured I now have the oppurtunity to sow some crops.
So, I have started again with a balcony garden. My garden so far comprises:
1 Lemon Tree: covered with flowers at the moment. I'm not sure if I should re-pot it. I'm a bit iffy about changing it when it seems to be happy.
1 Peach Tree: or as I think of it my 'Stick in a Pot'. It's not doing much at the moment. Maybe it's gathering strength and will burst forth with green and fruity vigour come November. Or not.
1 Passion fruit Vine
1 Asparagus Plant/Bush/Shrub/Thing: It has three teeny tiny spears poking up at the moment! I have no idea how many plant things I would need for a decent crop.
3 Strawberry Plants
Seedlings:
Spring Onions
Broccoli
Snow Peas: I'm growing these from seed and the first green heads appeared this morning!
Seeds that are sitting around in trays not doing much:
Parsley
Coriander
Marigolds - these seeds are so old I am not expecting to see any growth
Tomatoes

Wish me growing vibes! I'll put in some photos if I can ever find the camera.

M2T - The continuing adventures

2009-08-20T12:26:00.000+10:00

Well, I'm back.

Trogdor is now 10 months old. Ten months and a bit. When I made my last post Spidermonkey and I were 6 days away from meeting our son. He was still tucked away safely inside me and I, looking like an ancient fertility goddess (all stomach and boobs), was sitting on the sofa, surrounded by boxes we were yet to unpack, wondering if labour was ever going to start.

Five days later I was wondering if labour were ever going to finish.

Now, he is napping on the mattress in his room. The feet of his onesies are black with dirt - we spent the morning planting a garden. He is teething, and crawling, and his top lip is crusty with snot and grot from the planter boxes. He's feeding like a newborn at night - which is ironic as he didn't feed like that when he was a newborn, and he giggles hysterically whenever I walk through the door. He claps and laughs, he sings tunelessly and dances arrhythmical (much like his mother), he loooooves booba (much like his father), he is fascinated by light and plays with glow sticks endlessly. He soaks up love like a human sponge and it pours out of him and back into the world in general. He is a terrible flirt. All of our affection and attention are seen as fitting tributes and he accepts them with all the entitlement of a little deity. In return he is himself. Sometimes happy. Sometimes sad. Grumpy. Clingy. Loving. Independent. Joyous. Cranky. Cheeky. Playful.

I am sitting on the floor, with my back against our new, easy to clean, leather sofa. The boxes are (mostly) unpacked and I am surrounded by toys, cushions and discarded glow sticks. My figure remains largely unchanged...