Raising Master Max

I consider myself to be an incredible sane person.  I have no doubt this has a lot to do with the large chunk of my nursing career that I dedicated to psychiatric nursing, & believe me when I tell you that insane is some of the things I’ve seen within the four walls of those high acuity facilities & even forensic health settings.

Insane has thankfully never felt to me like some of the many days I’ve had where I’ve felt like I have just not coped with Motherhood for the day.  I mean Christ, … those doozy days where you feel like you’re just completely acopic are in fact really just completely normal?! If anything, you’ve merely trekked down a temporarily acopic path that so many others have trekked before you, & you do resurface, & you also live to tell the tale.  And hey, whaddy’a know … it’s usually even the very next day.

As it turns out, it’s the one person I used to know who seemed like she was coping the most (& would tell anyone who’d listen this very same thing) out of any of my Mothering friends who was behind-the-scenes, actually coping the least.  And I am at times ashamed to admit that I really did miss all of the signs.  Too in awe was I at how well she was seemingly coping with her newfound Motherhood when in reality, this just wasn’t the case.  Sadly, I didn’t realise any of this until after we were no longer friends, & her depression had well & truly taken hold.

It was that friendship that made me realise just how important it is to ensure your sanity is in check at all times throughout Motherhood, however it is you ensure this & whatever ways you go about doing this.   And that’ll be different for everyone, but for me … feeling happy & sane is all about not losing my sense of me throughout this Mothering journey o’ mine.  In the earlier days I really did let ‘me’ go, & my sanity took a bit of a hit as a direct result of this.  Nowadays though, I ensure that I don’t lose me throughout the whole process of raising he (& in just a few weeks time … she). 

I thought I’d share my little list of sanity savers & perhaps … compare yours?

~

On the working front, just do what suits you.  For me, this is working.  I whole-heartedly admire each & every SAHM, & I wish I could be that … selfless.  But I can’t, it’s just not in me.  Perhaps I am selfish, & you’re even welcome to tell me I am.  You won’t hurt my feelings, because the truth is I’ll be inclined to somewhat agree with you & tell you all about how I need to be stimulated by a project outside of raising my children, & how I also enjoy bringing an income into the household budget.

On the working front though, I need to be able to work without having to leave my child.  Because I’ve tried leaving him in a Montessori care environment, & it was a flipping disaster.  Eight weeks of his being pulled from me finger-by-finger like a baby koala, screaming is just not my idea of a successful return to work.  So I pulled him out, & vowed to myself & to him, ‘never AGAIN!’.  At the very beginning of my return to work, I opted for night shift.  I felt like it was perfect, because we had our days together & then I kissed him goodnight & left for work, sometimes returning before he’d even awoke again.  It only took eighteen months of my 4-5 night shifts per week, & the 1-2 hours of sleep I got post every one of these shifts for me to walk into the lounge room one night & tell Dave, ‘I can’t do this any more’.  It’s the closest I’ve ever teetered to clinical depression, & I never want to be in that place again.  Ever.

Now? I work from home.  And I’m able to do a large majority of my work from my iPhone, while I’m next to Max, or while he’s eating lunch, or immersed in his matchbox car world, & it’s … perfect.  The rest of my work is completed after he’s gone down for the evening, & I just feel blessed that I don’t have to do those anxiety-inducing (for the both of us!) Montessori drop offs, & nor do I ever have to contemplate breaking my mind on night shift again.

I always offer to go grocery shopping.  I know there is Coles Online, & I know the delivery costs are relatively inexpensive & blah blah blah, but … I love trawlin’ those aisles.  On my own.  I’ll admit the one & only downfall of work from home is the nil interaction I get with fellow grown ups.  And so for me, Coles is my therapy.  I love the car ride there, & the blasting of my favourite music, & the not having to strap my child into car seat, & then unstrap my child from car seat, & the not having to walk past every $2 ride & explain how he just can’t do them all, the coaxing of the child to hop into the trolley, the nil food bribery I have to bring with me, & just … this ability to walk slowly down every single aisle uninterrupted, & the people-watching that comes with it all.  Because I love people, & I am always watching them, & I’ll always be fascinated by them, & so this is why I do Coles every week.  And this is why I enjoy every minute of it.

Regular catch ups with friends.  To combat said work-from-home-sometimes- loneliness, I try to catch up with my friends regularly.  I remember being pregnant with Max & perhaps wearing rose coloured glasses, & then making rose coloured statements like, ‘when I’m a Mother, I will never leave my child’.

Seriously.  I really did say that.

Now I try to regularly leave him (once every 1-2/sometimes 3 months) in his Daddy’s loving arms, & I drive off into the sunset (actually, it’s usually the dark of the night after the dinner/bath/book/bottle routine has gone down), & I love every minute of the conversations I have with grown ups without the interruption of our children, & I also thoroughly enjoy the dinner I usually have that remains hot throughout my eating all of it.

I always leave on a high.  And I’m a better Mother to Max for having escaped him.

Say no to any social commitments that don’t suit you.  I used to go to dinner at my in-laws every Wednesday night.  This involved driving there smack bang in the middle of Max’s arsenic hour, on a night where I need to work through the majority of my own work-from-home commitments but can’t – because I’m there, not sleeping well because he doesn’t sleep well there, waking him up before he’s woken to get out of the house the next morning in time for everyone to take off for work, & then playing catch up with work for all of the next day due to my having gone there in the first place.

I love my husband’s family, but the every week dinners no longer work for me.  Instead, I limit going to once per month & I send Dave & Max instead, & then pick Max up the next morning.  By doing this, I’m able to plough through a heap of work at home, on my own.  I even take a break from work for one or two of my favourite reality TV shows, & I enjoy every single silent minute that I don’t have to listen to Dave bitching about my watching them.  I fall asleep in bed, & I even starfish, & bask in the fact that Max doesn’t inevitably push me to the last centimetre of my mattress throughout the night.

Grow some balls.  I’m a seriously non confrontational, non assertive … doormat, really.  Or at least, I was.  I still loathe confrontation, & I avoid any need to assert myself unless absolutely necessary, but if it’s necessary … I’ll do it.

Like the other month when I told you about my Mother-in-law’s friend who came up to me at a function, neglected to say ‘hi’ or even ‘how are you?’, & instead ripped out, ‘my GOD! You’re fat.  Your baby is going to be so fat!’.  The old me would have agreed with her & apologised for being ‘fat’, but post Motherhood me handles these things differently.  I just made a point of staring at her for one whole minute (long enough to make her feel incredibly awkward), & then simply turned around so that my back was facing her & continued on with the conversation I had been having with someone else until she had so rudely interrupted it.

Internally, I was shaking, but so flipping proud of me for making a point without making a scene.

This is not the time in your life for low self esteem.  You might have had low’ish self esteem your entire life, but now’s probably a nice time to part with that.  Of everything Motherhood presented to me, the thing I was least prepared for was the barrage of everyone else telling you how you should Mother, what you’re doing wrong, why if you continue to do what you’re doing your child will become an introvert/axe murderer/reclusive hermit/poorly behaved/malnourished/sleeping in your bed until they’re 50 ‘failure’.

I ignore it all now.  Because not many (apart from my husband, my Father, & my best friend) have ever said ‘you are doing a really good job as his Mother’.  So to the nitpickers & the well-intender’s, I also say that, exactly that, ‘thankyou.  But in all honesty, I actually think I’m doing a really good job at being his Mother’.

The same goes for ‘Mummy blogging’.  I have the most beautiful readers, I’ve never known why they read, but they do.  I also have a small collection of ‘hate readers’, who seem to skim past every positive post I might churn out, & then the very moment I post one less than positive’ish post, bang! They strike, & they lash out with their hate, & their snarky passive aggressive comments.  And it’s like I almost forgot they were even there, reading, until I had a less than good day/week/month, & I felt the need to blog about it.  And they then felt the need to attempt to make that day/week/month feel even worse with their shitful comments.

I’ll publish their comments & give them their soap box, but I neither publish any of my readers retaliations to their shitful comments (because I loathe the drama), & I mostly don’t even reply to them either (what can you say really?).

Finally, don’t neglect you.  I used to.  I used to have a list inside my head of all of the things I thought I had to tick off in order to pull this Mothering gig off, & seemingly well.  But the list was so long that there was sometimes no time for breakfast, or lunch, or a shower, & y’know … that just ain’t kösher.

Nowadays, I rearrange that list so that I feel like a human being, & don’t do all of those little things I think I need to do that lead to that neglecting of me. 

Max is still happy, we just live in a much messier house.  And sometimes? The pasta sauce on top of his dinner at night is from a … jar! (quelle horreur!).

Next on my to do list for my anti-neglect campaign is to find a way to organise more regular haircuts.  At the moment, it’s been twelve months since my last one, but I’m craving new bangs more regularly (& far less split ends!).

~

So that’s my list, what’s yours?

{ 28 comments }

You are 2½ years old today.  This blows my mind really, because it feels like it was just yesterday that with one last push, you made your debut into this world & were presented to us in all of your 9lbs + 4oz of brand new, chubby, squishy, all screaming & then purring right there against my chest glory.

I remember the first moment I saw you, I couldn’t quite believe just how much you looked like your Daddy.  Actually, it felt like I was looking at a newborn version of my husband.  You were … perfect.  You had this incredible thick, jet black hair & the most hilarious button nose.

I never wanted to let you go, & I haven’t, & nor do I ever even intend to.  Well, that is until you’re ready for me to loosen this maternal hold I have on you, of course.  And then I intend to mimic my beloved Father’s model of parenting, which was always the promotion of our confidence via the giving of our independence.

But … my lordy, that’ll be one tough day when it does indeed come around.

// there’s no doubting it, this truly is the best age.  I hear brand new Mum’s talking about the shock of newborn sleep deprivation, reflux, colic, & all kinds of newborn cries that just seem unable to be interpreted.  And I hear about the very early days of toddlerhood where I’m reminded about that daily frustrated crying from your child because they just want to do so much more, but seem limited by their own development, & the only thing you can do is ride it out until they reach all of the milestones that make them feel that little bit less frustrated.

I remember thinking back then that those days might be my ‘forever’, & on the particularly bad ones (I’m lookin’ at you reflux!), the thought of my new ‘forever’ honestly scared the sh*t out of me.

But now we’re here, & you’re 2.5 years old, & the only bad days I have are in fact, fixed by you Max.  You are the daily joy.  You are the first face I want to see in the morning (n.b I’m sure this has everything to do with the fact that you’re also sleeping in later in the morning).  You are the one I could waste entire days watching.  Yes, 2.5 year old you has become the absolute highlight of my Mothering days.  In fact, 2.5 years old feels like the holy grail of Mothering, & such a far cry from those reflux-y/colic-y/all day babywearin’/seemingly all day long frustrated baby/infant/toddler crying days that used to see me parking my exhausted butt on the front verandah just waiting for your Daddy’s car to pull into our street by days end.

You’re my littlest best friend now.  And these happier days feel like the reward for some of those harder ones; for both of us. 

// you are becoming so much better, & seemingly so much more confident around other children.  We’ve come to realise that you’re just a little bit on the shy side.  I know this because I actually see my own shyness in you, & if I can speak honestly, I don’t actually see this as a negative thing.  In fact, it’s rather endearing.  And hey, if you’re anything like me … you’ll grow out of it.

// you love vegetables, you loathe fruit (minus the heavily pureéd fruit I manage to sneak into your muffins – sucker!), you love cars/trucks – particularly trucks of the fire truck’ing variety/boats/trains/tractors/bobcats/etc. etc., you don’t so much care for planes any more, you loathe mess – most forms of it, but especially any mess on you.  If you spill any food anywhere, we have about a 3 second window of opportunity to clean up said spill before you completely lose your toddler mind.  The same seems to apply to any form of dirt on you, a runny nose, & so on, & so on – all require immediate removal with a baby wipe, & all preferably within that 3 second timeframe.

I hope this means you’re going to keep a clean room as an adolescent, but … I don’t like our chances.

// your imagination is quite simply, the absolute highlight of my days.  I love what you’re able to turn ordinary things into, & I love the animated way that you tell your stories, & I especially love the exaggerated way in which you tell them.

You’ve injected the kind of colour into our home that only a toddler can do, & we’re a happier home for it.

~

Life with 2.5 year old you is just … the best it’s been yet.  There truly aren’t many bad days, & if there are, you’re the person who makes them better.  I feel like I understand you just a little bit more every day, & I’m convinced our relationship continues to strengthen because of this.

In my last post I talked about not having a lot (or at times, any) external support  in my Mothering journey.  And yes, absolutely, this occasionally makes some days & a lot of tasks all the more difficult.  But, the positive? We have an incredibly strong relationship, & I’m sure I’ll owe this to all of the 1:1 time we spend together.

Max, you are only 2.5 years old & I feel like I need to let you know that I am so proud of you for the way you’ve accepted all of my medical appointments & hospital visits.  You’ve quite simply shown maturity & patience beyond your 2.5 years, & as soon as you’re old enough – I want to tell you how thankful I am that you’ve not turned every one of these sometimes daily appointments into a complete & utter nightmare.

Actually, I’m kinda completely blown away by 2.5 year old you.

{ 6 comments }

It was only in my last post that I might have mentioned, possibly even gloated about my ability not to cry in front of others.  I didn’t always have this ability, not at all, it’s just something that’s been very well developed over the years & is coupled with my experiences with other human beings who just … no longer seem to have that ability to be able to shock me.

The result? Not a lot shocks me.  And the best thing about this? It takes a lot to make me cry now, … a lot.

So there I was telling you about this ability o’ mine, typing it all out into a post, & then proofreading said post for any third trimester induced typos, feeling satisfied that there weren’t any, & then hitting publish on it & sending it into the internet abyss when I actually realised, ‘Uh.  Hang on a minute there Cherie.  You only just cried last week.  In a public hospital.  In front of perfect strangers.  And worse than that, in front of Max’.

You see, in all of my ‘I don’t cry in front of anyone’ gloating, I’d completely forgotten about pregnancy.  And the way it just seems to have its own ability to seemingly undo all of my terminator-like programming + conditioning.  And so that’s exactly what happened last week right there in that public hospital, & in full view of all of those perfect strangers; pregnancy went & kicked my arse.

I’ve had the most amazing pregnancy.  My lady baby has indeed been incredibly kind to me.  There has been minimal’ish morning sickness, minimal’ish full scale skin breakouts, minimal’ish first & second trimester weight gain (I’m not stupid, I know I pile it all on – & then some – in the third), & minimal’ish everything-else-I-seemed-to-have-whilst-pregnant-with-Max.  And for that, I’ve been counting every blessing, & then some.

And then we ticked over into the third trimester, & I went & celebrated this by managing to electrocute myself on a faulty light switch, in my own home.  This immediately landed me & the bump in hospital, & initially everything was fine.  Perfectly bloody fine.  And then it wasn’t fine, because our lady baby’s heart rate went up, & then mine went up, & then they noticed that my iron levels were just about heading into the sub zeroes, & so to cut a long story short we’ve been in & out of hospital for various appointments & monitorings & reviews of all of these shenanigans ever since.

We’ve been told ‘emergency c-sections at x amount of weeks’, & then that week comes & goes & there’s been no c-section’ing, & I just can’t even tell you what it’s doing to my mind.  Because mine is a mind that doesn’t like surprises, & that likes to be prepared, & that needs to know what is happening & when, & so you see … none of this happens when words like emergency c-sections are thrown around, & then not thrown around, & then thrown around again, & then to be told, ‘Cherie.  The rest of your pregnancy will just play out week by week’.

The day that I finally cried seemed to be the day where this last month all took its toll, & all on this one day.  I’ve had this seething, bitter disappointment at having to bring Max along to every one of these daily appointments & scans.  And I only seethe & feel bitterly disappointed because I know there are people in our life who have been in a position to help, but haven’t offered.  And it all just kinda blows my mind really, that people who are related to you wouldn’t just think to themselves, ‘she’s pregnant.  She’s highly emotional.  She’s got a two hour appointment where she’ll be strapped to a machine & unable to wrangle her 2.5 year old.  Perhaps I should offer to take Max, or at least accompany her to said appointment?’.  Y’know?  No.  This has not happened.

Because that would all just be too flipping helpful now, wouldn’t it?

So one day I just broke.  Because it all just felt a bit too much, & I broke.  Because I was in a room, strapped to the CTG machine, & Max figured out how to open the flipping door of the room we were in & escaped into the main hospital, all while I was strapped to a machine.  And I had to press the emergency button, so that the midwives could chase him down the corridor & bring him back to me, while I was strapped to this machine.  And whilst they didn’t say anything to me, I just knew what they were thinking, ‘why would you bring your two year old to every one of these appointments?!’.

And it made me realise that the reason why is because sometimes, I’ve honestly got no one.  And this realisation made me feel really alone.  And of course my thoughts went straight to Adelaide, & my despairing over not being there in these early Mothering years when I feel like I just need my family the most.

After my appointment, Max had reached that point of boredom induced toddler tantrum’ing that can only really be described as the point of no return.  He refused to walk, & I’d of course not packed the pram, & so I was holding his flailing, highly agitated, 15 kilogram body on my hip while he was screaming at the top of his lungs ‘want go home now!’.  My pelvis was sore, & I felt like I was shuffling, & I walked past six pregnant women who all waddled alongside the women who I can only assume were their Mothers (who all held their child/ren for them), & I just couldn’t help but think to myself ‘how lucky they are’.    

I looked down & realised that in all of Max’s flailing he’d brought up my t-shirt so that I’d been walking down that corridor showing off my full pregnant belly & its accompanying ‘outtie’ belly button, & I just felt … humiliated.  And that’s when I cried.  The tears just would not stop.  All the way down that corridor, past the countless people, & then on towards my car, I cried. 

I cried while I strapped Max into his car seat, & I cried while I sat in my own seat, & then I continued to cry while I drove home.  And I think that’s all I needed to do, because after all of that crying I felt ok.

And I’ve been ok since.

{ 16 comments }

Way back when I was but just a student nurse, we used to get sent off on clinical rotations regularly.  This meant weeks upon weeks of working for free at all of the major hospitals around Melbourne, & then all too often you’d find yourself on rotation with at least one older nurse who just seemed to have it in for student nurses, & so it was almost like it was their mission to find a way to send you home in tears.  Thankfully, over the course of my own life I seem to have developed this … ‘thing’ where I am seemingly unable to cry in front of another person.  Instead, my tears just build up & are then saved for the shower, the car (only at night time, & only on a long solo drive with loud, melancholy music), & if they just must be shed around another person, I imagine it’d be none other than Dave, my Dad, my sister, or a couple of my very closest friends.

The point is? None of those nurses ever had the satisfaction of knowing they’d ever upset me, & it’s been this thickening of my skin that continues to serve me well throughout life, … & not just professionally speaking.

Nonetheless, I loved every clinical rotation.  I just loved the patients, especially the (much) older ones.  I loved how nursing seemed to suit my personality to a tee.  And I loved how it seemed to put the naturally subservient aspect of my nature to good use.  Some people view the word ‘subservient’ as a negative word, I’m not using it here in a negative context, I’m just using it to describe my people lovin’, people pleasin’ ways.  So for this people lovin’, people pleasin’ semi subservient individual … nursing was the very most perfect fit.

Actually, there was only one clinical rotation I was sent to that I hated; rehabilitation.  I’m not talking about drug & alcohol rehabilitation, because I’ve done that (& loved it!).  I’m talking about rehabilitating people after say, a major accident & helping them to walk/talk/eat & be as close as possible to the person they once were before said major accident.  This meant having to stand back & literally watch someone struggle to do everything down to showering + toileting themselves, & not being able to help them by just doing something for them that they were particularly struggling to do forthemselves.

It killed me.   

I learnt so much about myself on that rotation, mostly … I learnt that if anyone in my life was ever needing to rehabilitate from anything, I am not the person to help them.  Because if you can’t walk, I’ll put you in a wheelchair & wheel you around wherever it is you want to go.  And I will pick up the socks you’re struggling to reach, & put them on your feet for you.  And I will shower you, so that you feel clean.  And I’ll brush your teeth, & feed you your meals, & comb your hair, & wipe your arse if it means that you don’t have to struggle to do something for yourself in your hour of need.  But as my facilitator said on that particular rotation, ‘Cherie.  Your idea of help is actually the very opposite of help in this particular environment’.

And she was right.  And that’s why I’ve never applied for a job in rehabilitation.  Because that desire to do for others just seems to be deeply embedded within me, & I just can’t see me shaking it.

I’m supposed to be on bed rest at the moment.  I say ‘supposed to be’ because even the obstetrician laughed as she said it while my 2.5 year old basically turned her office into a complete disaster zone within the less than ten minutes that we were actually there.  We settled for ‘as restful as you can be’.  And I’m trying, really truly trying to be restful.  Y’know, … as restful as you can be with a 2.5 year old.  I’m not making beds, I’m not lifting heavy things, I’m not doing much around the kitchen, I’m not vacuuming, I’m not mopping, I’m not cleaning bathrooms or toilets, I’m just … not doing anything really.

And when Dave gets home? I do even less (if that is even at all possible).  And I feel lazy, & non appreciative, & slovenly, & very non … Cherie.  But I keep thinking back to that rehabilitation placement, & it’s served to be a beautiful reminder that I’m the one who kinda needs help now, & especially my darling little girl.  So I’m not doing, & I am instead kinda almost semi basking in the fact that Dave has to instead do it all.  And I’m yet to hear a complaint outta that good man o’ mine.  Except the dishes.  He hates the dishes.  He even swears at them.

… he’s a good man.

{ 12 comments }

Believe it or not, this whole mood board started as a ‘new baby essentials’ thing, but … very soon after it became a wishlist of mostly expensive things that I probably won’t end up getting due to my not being able to afford them – particularly that little ensemble in number one, given that I initially pinned it on Pinterest, & then went back to see how much it would set me back & nearly fell off my chair.  No really, I very nearly did.

It’s absolutely beautiful, but it’s not essential, & I can’t afford it, so on Pinterest it shall stay!

You’ll be pleased to know though that I was able to somewhat stick to the essentials, with a couple’a wishlist items thrown in for good measure …

1.  The expensive non-essential, but holy-Mother-of-God-it’s-so-beautiful ensemble.  I loved it because it’s girly, in an incredibly Tom-Boy’ish way.  And if I win the lottery, I will get it.  If you’re cashed up, you can find it here for $158.61.

2.  I love this dummy.  I wish I’d known about it when I birthed Max, because he was a big dummy baby, & my maternal nurse kept telling me this was adding to his nipple confusion.  She needed to spend just one night with Max & his reflux, & see how long she went without the use of a dummy.  This is the only dummy I’ve seen on the market that is breastfeeding friendly, & so I will buy this in the hopes that I am able to breastfeed this baby.  You can find it here for $14 (2-pack).

3.  This isn’t an essential.  In fact, we’ll be sticking with our $30 pull apart IKEA highchair due to its always winning feature being that I can wipe any mess Max has managed to smash on to it with no more than one to two baby wipes.  Maximum.  However, this is preedy.  And it should be really, because according to Pinterest it’s $500?! Seriously cashed up? You can find it here.

4.  I’m going into round two of Motherhood with a much more open mind.  When I couldn’t breastfeed Max, I literally beat myself up into an almost state of psychosis.  I don’t want to do that to me, nor my baby, nor Dave again.  If breastfeeding doesn’t work, my baby will be formula fed.  And if this is the case, I’m going to buy myself these pretty glass bottles to celebrate this ‘failure’.  They’re $23.95 & available here.

5.  I actually have this.  It’s from seed.  It’s a onesie that she’ll grow out of in a matter of weeks.  It’s $69.95, but I don’t care because we have hand-me-downs from incredibly generous friends ranging from newborn to three years old, & I just wanted one beautiful piece that was expensive, & of good quality, & warm, & something that I could feel proud about putting her in when we bring her home from where we will birth her.  You can find it here.

6.  I’ve basically had my eye on this nightlight ever since I began at Down That Little Lane.  It will be mine.  And probably soon.  It’s $65 & available here.

7.  Flat bears.  Oh my God.  Where do I start? Other than that it is literally the best thing anyone ever gave Max when he was first born, & wouldn’t you know it, gifted to Max by one of Dave’s blokiest friends?! If any of my friends give birth now, this is what I give, every time.  We bought our little lady the milky white version, & then the owner of Antipodean Love refunded our money & sent this out to us saying she’d simply loved watching Max & Marben’s friendship develop via this blog.  That’s why you’ll see her button in my blog’s sidebar advertising forever, because I was quite simply blown away by her generosity! Seriously though, if you’re pregnant, or know someone who is, give them a flat bear.  They range from $34.95 to $50 & are available here.

8.  I love deer.  I don’t usually like pink, but I love this deer.  I don’t usually like Country Road, but I love this deer.  I will probably get this.  It’s $34.95 & available here.

9.  These shoes.  I’ve loved them ever since they first came out, & I tried so hard to convince myself that they were almost masculine enough for Max to wear if I bought them in navy blue; I was kidding myself.  They really truly are for little girl’s, & now that I have one on the way, I think these will be her first walker’s.  They’re $39 & available here.

10.  I’ve broken so many of my parenting ideals when the actual reality of parenthood presented itself to me, but I’ve  well & truly stuck fat to the promotion of my child/ren’s imaginations, & I always will.  I adore these fairy doors, because your child gets to dream, & they get to be children & perhaps believe in magic, & that’s just something I’ll never not foster.  I like that you can pop it in their bedroom, leave a sprinkle of fairy dust for them to wake to, & even a little note from the fairy’s.  I’m even thinking tooth fairy down the track?! They’re $36 & available here.

11.  I saw this on Pinterest.  I realised it wasn’t available for sale, but was instead a knitting pattern.  I can’t knit.  I still want this.  The pattern is $14.16 & available here.  Can you knit? I’ll pay you to knit this for me!

12.  Another Country Road number.  But I just liked the pinks + yellows + stripes.  Don’t hate me.  It’s $34.95 & available here.

13.  These incredible wraps were recommended to me by an instagram friend, & I’m basically forever grateful. Affordable, beautiful designs, & I’ve played around with my fake doll & am pleased to report that they’re incredibly easy to use.  If the lady baby is anything like Max, she’ll be wanting to be held 24/7 & I’m so pleased to have found something better than my very-much-so loathed Baby Björn.  They’re $65 & available here.

{ 27 comments }

I’ve never ever wanted to be one of those women who spend the majority of their nine months of pregnancy complaining about it.  When I was pregnant with Max, a work colleague whose due date was only a couple of weeks behind ours lost her pregnancy at the half way mark.  I felt completely lost for words just being around her every day after, & so I instead chose to give her an empty journal with a hand written note at the front that read, ‘the only words that I suspect might help during this time, will be your own’.  I felt like anything I could have ever said to her would have just fallen under that whole ‘social pleasantries’ umbrella, & I personally can’t stand being on the receiving end of a Hallmark statement when I might be going through a particularly difficult time.

Her loss though served as this constant reminder that I should have a little bit of perspective & consideration for anyone who might have experienced something similar when they asked how my pregnancy was treating me.  And so for all of my pregnancies I’ve mostly stuck to my staple response, ‘I mean, I’m tired … but otherwise really good thanks!’

This pregnancy has been amazing, for no other reason other than my knowing that I am just so lucky to be able to grow a life.  Of course there’s been the morning sickness, & the every-single-trimester fatigue courtesy of cyclone Max, & that washed out look that I seem to get while every other preggo sister just seems to glow, & the fact that all of my unborn children seem to go for this flipping Pacman approach to my iron levels (?!), & so they just dine on those iron levels for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  And so then of course there are the subsequent black circles below both of my eyes, & the oh-hey-look-I’m-an-adolescent-again-esque skin.  There’s the waddling, & the heartburn, & the way my hips ache when my co-sleeping Max pushes me to the very last centimetre of my bed seemingly every night whilst at the same time sparing Dave (& allowing him all of the bed space he requires), or perhaps that’s just my preggo rage? Oh, did I neglect to mention the preggo rage?!?!

Dave could write a whole post about that, but … I suspect he wouldn’t dare.

But, I’m growing a life here.  And we’ve lost enough pregnancies ourselves to be gently reminded of just how intensely grateful we are for just having been able to reach 31 weeks with this little life that grows inside of me here.  This week we received some news regarding our little lady baby that has it looking like we’ll most likely need to have an emergency c-section, & much sooner than we could have ever imagined (given that we birthed Max at 42 weeks).  And I have to be honest, I’ve been … a mess.  I think this has been mostly to do with the fact that I received this news while Dave was interstate for work, in a Western Australian underground mine, with zilch phone reception, & … I just desperately wanted to be able to send him telepathic messages like, ‘your wife needs you to come home.  Immediately!’.    

Now that he’s home, I’m ok, & we’re ok, & we’re just trying our best to prepare ourselves for whatever might be around our corner.  I’ve been sleeping, a lot.  And I’ve only been leaving the house to do quick dashes to Target to pick up some c-section friendly (very!) oversized underwear & some onesies with more zero’s in them than I could ever have imagined dressing my children in, given that Max was an almighty 9lbs 4oz, courtesy of that 42 week baking period.

Life (& pregnancy!) can have a lot of curve balls, can’t it?

{ 39 comments }

I never had many rules when I began this blog. I just decided I wanted to write about Motherhood, googled ‘online journal’, & well & truly stumbled my way into blogging. In hindsight, I wish I’d been cleverer & never put Max’s name to it – but in my defence, who’d have thunk anyone would ever have read what I had to say?! And so when it came to title’ing this little space, ‘Raising Master Max’ it was.

Foresight truly has never been my forté.

Initially, the only rule I really did have was that if anyone ever did take the time to comment, I would always comment back. I’m lucky though, I’m small, & so I can reply to everyone. I guess I just feel like not replying would be the offline equivalent of not responding at all when someone waves to you & says hello.

Anti-social I ain’t.

My blogging journey progressed, I stuck to every first rule I ever had, & I’m pleased to report that I’ve never broken any. More & more though, I regret putting Max’s name to this space. I should have been cleverer, & been able to foresee that perhaps more people than just my Dad, my sister, & my husband would read this here space, & so I probably should have protected him with a pseudonym.

Them’s the life lessons we’re delivered.

Two & a bit years on & I still love blogging enough to write & share as much as I feel inspired to, which has somewhat faded a little with first/second/& now third trimester preggo fatigue, but I can safely say there’s barely a comment that’s ever been left on this here blog that hasn’t been replied to. Lately though, I really am struggling to get to my bloggy inbox. And please don’t for a second think that I’m even remotely insinuating that this is because I am big & famous, I am so very not. It’s just because work will always come first, & my work inbox is a busy one, & my other work commitments are even busier ones. And then you slip in a little bit o’ Mothering to one beautiful little toddler cyclone whilst feeling frustratingly fatigued throughout the majority of your second pregnancy, & you have one severely neglected bloggy inbox.

I’m very sorry.

I’ve decided that I’d create this little FAQ post, given that so many questions really do revolve around very similar themes, & because I’m the kind of person who hates feeling like I’m ever neglecting anything or anyone. I figure this little post will suffice until I find a chunk of time to sit down & get to that inbox.

I hope this doesn’t come across as the writings of just another arrogant blogger.

~

How do you juggle work from home with a toddler?

This is the number 1 question. You all want to know how it’s done. And I very much so wish I had the answers for you, but I don’t. It’s exactly that … a juggle. And I drop a lot of balls regularly. And I’ll only drop a whole lot more when baby #2 comes along. But not working is not an option for me for two reasons;

1. We can’t afford for me not to work and,
2. I go bat sh*t crazy with boredom when I don’t.

I have always, & will always just be one of those people who can’t sit still. I don’t watch a lot of TV, & I quite simply don’t understand the concept of a bath. To me, both of these things just feel like a complete waste of time. I’m sure that all of these quirks at times make me a fairly exhausting person to be around, but you see – I married someone who is very similarly restless when doing nothing, & so … it works.

As for managing actual work from home with a toddler? It involves my iPhone, & my being able to respond to work e-mails from said iPhone. It also involves my acceptance with knowing that I will never be able to do anything other than what I can do from my iPhone during the day, & then using my nights to play catch up. I do pull late nights, & I do also often set my alarm for 4am to get one or two hours in before Max wakes, but I do this fully knowing this isn’t my forever. It’s just while my littles are little.

Lastly, I have my Nanna here once per week & I pay her $50 for this privilege. It’s only $5 more than a day at a family day care, & Max gets 1:1 interaction with someone who completely adores him. And as for me? Well, I get six hours of work done, uninterrupted.

Can you get me a job in social media?

Where to start, other than that I really wish I could. I barely know of many jobs going myself, but I do know they’re most definitely out there. The only thing I can really do is give you a description of my job + exactly what I do, & if you think you’re the kind of person who’s prepared to be ‘on’ a lot, well then … go for it. Just please be prepared for the fact that you’ll never look at your phone the same way again, & please also be prepared for the fact that the notifications never stop buzzing. In any one day, I have every social media forum notification buzzing at me via my phone along with all of the accompanying e-mails + then the juggling of the back end of the digital media commitments that I also manage. It’s busy, & I need you to know that, because sometimes I get the impression that people think social media is a couple of updates here & there & then bang, you get paid.

When I first started out in this industry & tried to explain to an acquaintance what it is that I do, she said, ‘oh right. Wow. So you don’t have to think then?’.

Crickets chirping.

Why don’t you post pregnancy photos at all?

Easy. Women are nasty. And I don’t carry pregnancy like Miranda Kerr did, so why should I open myself to the ‘you’re so big for how far along you are’/’are you sure it’s not twins?’ carnage that comes whenever you post a bump photo.

Just last week, a friend of my Mother-in-law’s called me ‘fat’ & then went on to say how obviously ‘fat’ my baby must already be. To my face. This only served to remind me that I indeed do not carry pregnancy well, but more importantly … that women have the potential to be the biggest flipping idiots.

The only place I share my pregnancy journey is via my instagram account, which is private, & I only add people I recognise from the blogosphere in some way, shape or form (whether they are a blogger themselves, or a reader).

Did you know you were featured on GOMI?

Heh. No. I didn’t. That was until my manager e-mailed the thread to me (not having read it in full herself, & not having realised I had been mentioned a few times).

Was I hurt? Initially, yes. But when I took the time to actually get over myself, I was able to see that for the most part, everything that was said was for the most part … constructively critical. And the rest? Nothing more than personal attacks that came from people who perhaps misinterpreted the snippets of my life I choose to share via this blog. I simply can’t share it all, every blogger has their own filters, & I adhere to mine so as not to entirely f*ck my life up offline. For me it’s a recipe that works, & continues to work, & so that’s why I’m able to continue to blog.

Why have I never discussed GOMI here? No idea. It probably has a lot to do with my very strong beliefs in achieving dignity through silence. And since having revisited that thread only days ago, I’ve now observed a fellow blogger who appears to have joined the thread purely to defend what’s been said about her & I have to be honest, the whole thing just makes me cringe.

If my roles in digital media management have taught me anything, it’s that the more ‘followers’ you have, the more likely it’ll be that you’ll have people who won’t agree with everything you put out there. And if you’re too into yourself to be able to handle the shock of an audience that doesn’t always agree with or rave about everything that you put out there, well … best you get offline, & stay offline.

The worst comments I’ve ever received were directly after we chose to put Max into day care. They came from a reader who was a full-time SAHM, & she used to leave a lot of comments here telling me about how I was a ‘pig’ & how I was ‘damaging my son’ & acting as an ‘outsourcer for what should have been my primary role’ etc. etc.

That’s just what happens when you put your blog & snippets of your life out there within the public sphere’. People will criticise. Sometimes quite harshly. And there really, truly are some women out there who just genuinely don’t believe Mother’s should work. Simple as that.

Do I make money from my blog?

Not a cent. I hate PR, mostly because the PR I get sent revolves around writing about cleaning products or loaves of bread with no actual monetary gain for myself. The few times I have even considered taking something PR’sey on, they’ve simply refused to pay for my time, & given that time is not something I have an abundance of (or even enough of!), I take offence to anyone assuming I’ve got nothing better to do with my time than write about boring as sh*t products.

For free. End rant.

Am I a Mormon?

This gets asked, a lot. I always laugh, because I just think I am at times, the most non-virtuous person. Dave & I always wonder what it is that seems to give this impression of us even being remotely Christian. Some of my closest friends are Christian, & my very best friend is a minister’s daughter, & she really is just a far better & more virtuous human being than I, ha!

I drink, I swear, I take the lord’s name in vain when someone tells me something shocking (“oh my GOD!”), & I take his son’s name in vain when I hurt myself (“Jesus H Christ!”). I do however believe in Christian values, for no other reason than my thinking that they serve to make a good person out of anyone, & really are just a nice little recipe for a good life. Of all the religions though, I’d say I am able to relate to Buddhism the most.

{ 51 comments }

The last time Claire & I met, Max was sixteen months old & she captured these stunning shots.

A few weeks ago, we met again with a now 28 month old Max & his 25 weeks pregnant Mama, & Claire spoilt us again with her incredible photography. That first black + white shot of Max in particular is my very favourite & is already framed, & on my work desk, & something I look at countless times while I’m busy managing the digital media for Down That Little Lane + Zimmer & Jee.  I guess that shot in particular acts like a stunning reminder of why I am here, why I am doing what I’m doing, & exactly what kind of beauty was able to be created just because two people fell in love.  And I know I really am disgustingly biased & not in the least bit modest when I say this, but … just look at that beauty.

Claire managed to chase around a most energetic two year old little boy whilst wearing her own newborn baby in a sling, & in doing so she managed to catch Max in a moment that is just so true to his personality; the deepest little thinker, & someone who others have always commented on as showing wisdom beyond his years.  Sometimes, I honestly feel like he’s been here before.

But I’m sure all Mothers say that?

I think all of the above really is why I have the most profound respect for photographers though.  They photograph people just as they are, & you appreciate it as soon as you see the images, because you just love the images.  And then you appreciate it more when you print those images, because they’re enlarged & on high quality paper & ready for you to proudly display in your home.  But I think it’s something you’ll appreciate most years from now when you’re just so thankful that you even have those images from way back when your littles were little, & perhaps there were things about their tiny little faces that you might have forgotten.

I think that first black + white shot of Max is a photo I’ll keep coming back to & really just think to myself, ‘good lord.  He is beautiful!’.  And I think every Mother deserves these kind of photographs of their children, & the chance to be in a photograph with their children (as opposed to constantly being behind the lens).

Claire thinks the same.  And she’s giving one lucky Raising Master Max reader the chance to enjoy a mini photo shoot (5 images on disc) with her here in glorious Melbourne so that you can be in a photo with your children, & your partner too if you so wish, (or not – if that’s the way you’d prefer it).  She doesn’t care, she just wants to be able to have the chance to gift you some of her photography so that you can enjoy her images the very same way that I do mine.

All you need to do is follow her on Facebook,

And while you’re there follow me too (so that I can announce the winner there),

Then leave a comment below & tell us why you’d love a photo shoot.

A winner will be announced this Sunday May 12th as her Mother’s Day gift to you (winner will be announced here, & on my Facebook page & will have a week to e-mail me to claim their prize).

The winner must be Melbournian, or able to be in Melbourne to participate in the shoot.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

~

If you can’t wait, Claire is also offering a photography special to Raising Master Max readers which includes a full shoot with all images on disc for only $300 (travel fees may apply to those outside of metropolitan Melbourne).

Just head over to her page & tell her Chez sent you!

{ 19 comments }

You were twenty-nine months old yesterday.  You capped off this little milestone o’ yours with your first ever vomit bang on when we were putting you to sleep for the night.  It took me by surprise, because it really did just come out of nowhere, but also because it just kept coming, & coming, & coming.  It took you by surprise too, because in your twenty-nine months of life, this was the first time something was coming out of your mouth as opposed to going into it.

We stripped everything off you & put fresh, clean clothes on you, & then you slept between us for the rest of the night.  Honestly? If you’d have been able to crawl into my skin, you surely would have.  I watched you sleep for the remainder of the night, & I couldn’t help but think about the parents with really sick children.  I mean, twenty-nine months of life & the only things you’ve really endured (if I can even use that word?!) have been reflux, colic, a sensitivity to nuts, tonsillitis, & now … your first projectile’ish vomit.

My good friend & former nursing colleague also has a son named Max, & at ten weeks of age he suffered a paediatric stroke & then had to be placed into an induced coma.  I was a hopeless support to her at the time, because I really am just one of those people without a clue as to what to say or do when others are experiencing hardship that I feel none of my words can fix.  Her son survived, & thrived, & she held it together throughout their entire hospital stay.  And so it’s always her & him that are at the forefront of my mind whenever my Max has had a runny nose, or a little bit of teething, or whatever other mild ailment has come our way.

Perspective, huh?

That my son is twenty-nine months old, & the most I have ever had to worry about him was when a relative gave him a nut based product to which he had a pretty significant reaction to is something I count my blessings for every day.  And so without any further ado, let’s celebrate where we are at some twenty-nine months in to this beautiful little life o’ his.

:: lately I’ve been looking at you, & I see so much little boy & so little baby.  I suspect you’re only going to seem bigger again when your little sister comes along.

:: I’ve been taking so many moments lately to fully appreciate this chapter of my life where I have one child, & where I’ll look back on this time & think it was the easiest.  It’s all of these little moments, a combination of stupid little moments, & more significant moments, but really just … these times where I think to myself, ‘this is just lovely.  And easy’.  Like when I pack your bag when we go out together for the day, or when I can sneak into the home office at times when I need to reply to an urgent work e-mail (& you let me), or supermarket trips, or the once or so per month that you give in to a day sleep & I make a point of turning the TV off & just sitting there & basking in the deafening silence, I flipping love that silence.  Or of course, there was the other morning where I just decided my work from home week had me feeling a little lonely & like I needed to be around people – even if I didn’t necessarily know them.  So we went to a coffee place – even though I don’t drink coffee, & I brought your matchbox cars & ordered you some gingerbread men, & then I ordered an iced chocolate for myself.  And you played happily & quietly, & I enjoyed every last bit of that iced chocolate & all of the subsequent conversations I got to eavesdrop on.  I felt … human again.  But I also couldn’t help but think to myself, ‘man.  That was easy’.  And so it’s all of these moments where I try to remind myself that years from now, these will have been what I’ll likely refer to as the ‘easy’ years.

:: you have finally accepted that you are having a baby sister.  We’ve not told you her name, because you are a parrot these days, & you’ll just tell everyone.  When people ask you what you’re having you say, ‘seeta!’.  And if they’re cheeky & ask you what her name will be you say, ‘bubby!’.

:: you’re a perfectionist, like me.  And I feel for you, because perfectionism is … exhausting, & so I don’t think I want that for you.  You lose your mind if any of the matchbox cars that you line up perfectly every morning fall out of line, or if you’re eating a food that crumbles & breaks, or if you’re drinking from a cup & your toddler clumsiness sees you spill a couple of drops on the floor.  I honestly don’t think it’s anything in particular that Dave or I have done, I think it’s just a part of your personality, as it is mine. 

:: every weekend now you wake up & scream, ‘let’s go see houses!’.  At least one person in this household is enjoying attending inspections + auctions every weekend, & I can assure you it’s not your pregnant Mama.

:: we took you to one particular house we’ve had our eye on & when you reached what must have been a little boy’s bedroom, you were transfixed.  I believe it had everything to do with his collection of trucks, & in particular one prized fire truck.  Actually, we couldn’t even move you.  Instead, we pulled that ol’ parental bluff of waving goodbye & wishing you well, & really hoping you’d follow.  No,  you just remained transfixed to that one room & when anyone else inspecting the property entered the room you’d say, ‘go ‘way!  Wax’s room’.

You were twenty-nine months old yesterday, & even on the days riddled with the most tantrums, I’m well aware that these are the best years of all of our lives.

Please just stay little for as long as possible, because watching you grow really is my daily joy.

~

That stunning photograph above was taken by my beautiful friend Claire.  I often look at it, & I can’t believe how something so beautiful & so perfect could actually be mine.

She recently took some photos of Max, myself, & my lady baby bump, which I’ll be showing you tomorrow.

Watch this space.

{ 10 comments }