Raising Master Max

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?

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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.

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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!

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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.

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In amongst all of our moving house whilst being significantly pregnant shenanigans, were four consecutive days of some of my very favourite days, & this had everything to do with my Dad & my step-Ma visiting.  They both have this incredible knack of timing their trips for exactly when I’m craving to see them both the most; & Max too for that matter!

Sometimes I can get caught up in maybe even feeling a little sorry for myself for being apart from my family when I feel like I need them & want them around the most.  And I really do think that it’s because I’m smack bang in the middle of the very early days of Motherhood where I’m sure most women crave to be around & be guided by their families whilst navigating these early days.  And I’ll be honest, I’m no exception.  Other times, I’m even somewhat ashamed to admit that I can barely stand to hear about the kind of support some of my Mama friends receive from having their own families so close by during their own early Motherhood days.  Y’know, I just pick up on the abundance of guidance, & the reprieve from some of the more tedious days parenthood presents them with, & the free babysitting (without … guilt!), & the coming along to supermarket trips now & then just to help with the juggle, & the everything else that makes this jealous heart pang with the teensiest bit of complete & utter resentment.

Hey, I’m human. 

But don’t you worry, I’m also human enough, & decent enough to feel happy for them.  In my humble opinion, I believe every Mother deserves as much support as she can garner for herself.  There’s just no room for martyr-hood in Motherhood, & if there are offers of help, you flipping take them.  But you see that’s the thing, sometimes … I just can’t help but feel like the offers I get are too few & far between.  And they’re few & far between, because my family aren’t here.  And if they were, I know I’d be one of those luckier Mothering folk like the ones I described above; with the guidance, & the occasional reprieve from the tedious days, & the guilt free babysitting, & perhaps even a sneaky escort to the supermarket now & then.

But then I have four days like the ones I’ve just recently had with my family, & I’ll be honest, I can’t help but think I am one of the lucky ones.  Because although I pang for my family, & I do, & I pang often, & I’m sometimes unable to spare Dave from this panging, & he simply has no choice but to hear me out (& then jump online to webjet to see if there are any cheap flights to Adelaide going – which there usually aren’t, but we book anyway, because when I’m panging, I’m panging!), I’m still able to step back & see that I am indeed one of those lucky ones.

Although my family isn’t entirely close in distance, we have this closeness between us that makes all of that distance simply not matter.  And I feel lucky because when my family visits, they stay with us, & I get live-in love, & support, & nurturing, & care, & daily reprieve from my daily grind.  Max adores my Dad, & so Dave & I are almost forgotten when my Dad is down.  But the thing is we’re happy to be, because we get to reconnect with each other in a way you only can when you have someone as beautiful as my Dad offering his unwavering time & patience for a completely-smitten-with-his-Pa two year old little boy.  My Dad just takes over everything, not because I ask him to, & not because he feels he has to, but because he wants to.  And it’s this kind of guilt-free support that just makes me feel like I’m lucky.  And when he leaves I’m sad, of course I’m sad, but I’m also entirely recharged as a parent & Max’s Mother.

… and I imagine this is what my friends must feel like with having their own families so close by.  And I can’t help but feel blessed that I too get to experience this kind of support, because even though it lives further away, when it comes – it comes in the kind of quality amounts that can’t help but make Dave & I feel truly grateful for what we have, when we have it.

I had four entirely amazing days with my Dad & my step Ma, & they were filled with the very best kind of conversations, & the best kind of food, & only the most genuine kind of laughter, & just … amazing company.

And for that, I’m grateful.  And recharged as a human being, & as a wife, & as a Mother.

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I’ve been so quiet lately here in bloggy land.  It’s for no other reason other than the fact that I agreed to put our current house on the market, & then spend every weekend inspecting potential future homes & even bidding on some (& being dramatically outbid) when they go to auction.  When I agreed to all of this I thought, ‘sure! I can do this’ because I’ve always just been one of those people who fails to see any of the challenges in anything that I decide to take on; & so for the most part, I pretty much take on everything.

And with a bucket load of gusto, might I add.

In this whole ‘moving house’ scenario however, there’s been less of that usual Cherie-esque gusto, & more … sleeping, & crying, & apprehensiveness, & generally just hobbling around like I’m 94 years old.  I blame this on my just so happening to be in the third trimester of my pregnancy, & so there’s been all of these added hormones, pregnancy fatigue, & a big ol’ belly to contend with.

Something I’ll admit Dave & I both entirely underestimated was how we’d go preparing to put our house on the market during my third trimester of pregnancy, & all whilst wrangling one toddler of the ‘cyclone’ variety.  It’s funny, because we look at the photographs of our house that ended up going online in order to market it, & they’re … well, real-estate-y perfect. 

But they don’t tell the story.  Oh, how they don’t tell the story!

Our agent booked a photographer for pretty much bang on arsenic hour on a Thursday evening.  And so I spent all of Thursday cleaning & preparing our home so that it might just end up looking like a home that someone could want to buy.  So … no signs or traces of a toddler, minus one perfectly styled & perfectly clean toddler bedroom of course! Now, because we had absolutely no one to help mind Max throughout the process, this then meant that most of my Thursday was actually spent attempting to get our home into a display-home-like state while Max followed behind generally just undoing everything as I did it.

For most of that Thursday, I just felt really pissed off & cynical.  Pissed off & cynical, because I just couldn’t believe that not one person within our network of people could say;

a)    ‘hey, let me either help you with your clean + moving around of heavy furniture’ or,

b)    ‘let me take Max off your hands for a couple of hours so that you can clean + move around said heavy furniture without a toddler nipping at your pregnant, swollen heels’.

I’ll be completely honest, pissed off & cynical really isn’t even true to my normal style, but I just couldn’t help but convince myself that there were women out there in their third trimesters of pregnancy who had these kinda families around them who actually gave a fuck.  Y’know?

I imagine they’re the kind of people who would be all like, ‘Oh, no no no no no.  You can’t move that two-seater lounge on.your.flipping.own, while.you’re.flipping.pregnant!’.  And so this kind of really quite pissed off & ever increasingly cynical self-talk stuff happened for the most part of the day, & I really did end up just feeling completely filled with rage.  I honestly was just constantly swearing internally, & then walking off into spare bedrooms & y’know … just punching at the air in a really quite unattractive & rather acopic manner.  And then occasionally, I would just cry.  And that helped too.  Until eventually, the home did indeed end up looking display-home-like.  And the photographer? Well, they came, they snapped, & they conquered.

And now? Well, our house is up for sale.  Actually, they pitched the ‘For Sale’ sign right where Dave proposed to me back in 2009.

And I cried over that too, I’ll have you know …

~

In between all of this house preparing & one-day-maybe-soon house hunting, Max & I managed to catch up with Lou from Sunny + Scout in our one-day-maybe-soon suburb.  It was just so good to meet a potential future neighbour & her beautiful children, not to mention all of the discussions we got to have about moving house whilst being pregnant, working from home whilst moving house whilst being pregnant, & then off topic – the joys of wearing oversized baggy jumpers whilst being pregnant.

Because she is a photographer, & because her photography is just completely stunning, she whipped out the camera & took some snaps which you can see here.

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I’ve had the most shitful fortnight.

Y’know how you just have those completely shitful days where one shitful thing is delivered to you, & then the next, & then the next, until you’re just so completely sure it is indeed a shitful day that you are in fact, having? And then you go to bed at the end of this shitful day, & you do that whole … ‘well, tomorrow’s a new day!’ thing? And then tomorrow comes, & it’s just as shitful (if not more) than its predecessor? And then all of the shitful-ness just becomes this rinse-repeat thing for two whole weeks, until there’s nothing else you can really do other than to simply acknowledge that the entire fortnight has just been a prick of a thing, really?

Yes? Well, that was this fortnight.  And I am its survivor.  Or its bitch (I’m still trying to figure that whole part out).  And I’ll be honest, as every day appeared to shape out to be more shitful than the last, I just kept reminding myself that my Dad & my step-Ma will be flying in from Adelaide this weekend for four.whole.days! And so with that, I 100% know that I have reprieve from the shiftful.  And I have genuine kinds of love that can only be delivered to you by your very immediate family, & I have support with Max & his tantrum’ing ways, & I have support with my WAHM schedule, & I have support with the preparing of this house for the upcoming sale of it, & perhaps I might even have the chance to sit down & rest this weary pregnant body whilst allowing my Dad to change a nappy or two.

He’s just that kind of man.  Y’know … my Mum, & my Dad.  And every time I pick him up from the airport, the very moment we are reunited once more, he pulls me in for the tightest hug & he never fails to tell me, ‘you’re doing a wonderful job as Max’s Mother’, & sometimes? It’s not been something I’ve heard since the last time he landed in Melbourne, & I don’t even realise how nice it is to hear those words until he’s whispering them to me, & meaning every damn one of them, & I can’t help but think, ‘you’re a flipping wonderful man!’. 

One day I ought to say that.  In fact, I will say that to him this weekend.

This fortnight I’ve fantasised about finding a way to clone myself in order to be in the one hundred or so places I’d like to be able to be at once, & the one hundred or so different directions I feel that I’ve been pulled in this fortnight.

Y’know, there’d be one Cherie who was just being this most ultimate Mother to Max, & she’d be filling every flipping day with nutritious meals, nil TV, & boundless age appropriate educational opportunities.  Then there’d be the Cherie who could work a full work from home schedule, & earn the countless dollars to go with it in order to muffle that pesky husband’s concerns about any lack of dollars.  She’d be the kind of employee who was just so completely available, & switched on, & not sleep deprived, & therefore never making any Motherhood-induced errors, & just really blowing everyone away with what she’s capable of doing when she isn’t all of those other Cherie’s to all of those other people.  I’d even love a Cherie whose sole responsibility would be to be the ultimate friend to all.  Someone who never has to cancel catching up with friends due to every other commitment, & who can call every damn friend every damn day, & who can remember to reply to the text messages she simply forgot she received during the day, & then became too distracted by the work she does at night that she never got a chance to do during the day, & then felt too tired to worry about replying after finishing all of the work.  Because this fortnight, I’ve had a couple of friends say, ‘flipping hell Chez.  Lift your game!’.

And rightfully so.  Of late, I’ve been about as shitful a friend to my friends as this shitful fortnight has been to me.

This fortnight I’ve fought with my husband over Weet-Bix, yes Weet-Bix, & yes – a true doozy of an argument, because I guess some of the worst arguments really do come down to which cereal your toddler will have for breakfast (or won’t, given that said husband polished off the last of those Weet-Bix, & neglected to replace them).  And in all honesty, it really is just Weet-Bix.  But in this house, Weet-Bix are literally the only flipping thing Max wants for breakfast.  And he has four Weet-Bix for breakfast, every day.  And he’s back to waking in the 4’s, as in 4am’s, courtesy of daylight savings finishing.  And so it’s a couple of hours before the first supermarket opens in your suburb.  And so you have this complete doozy of an argument with your husband over Weet-Bix, & you just wonder how you’re even arguing with someone over Weet-Bix in the first place?! But you are, because your toddler is at your ankles screaming for ‘precious!’ between the hours of 5-6am, because that’s what he calls Weet-Bix, & so all of this boils down to why you’re even arguing with your husband about a breakfast cereal.

By Monday of this week I felt completely & utterly overwhelmed.  I looked at every one of my work inboxes, & my heart really did just palpitate.  I looked at all of the text messages in my phone that had gone completely unanswered, & I thought to myself, ‘I am a complete a-hole’.  I re-read the e-mail argument I’d had with my husband & thought, ‘1.  I hope management don’t read his e-mails and, 2. I am a complete a-hole.  It really was just Weet-Bix’.  And I got a final message from a friend that basically said, ‘lift your game, man’, & I thought to myself ‘Yep.  You’re right.  I’ve been a complete a-hole’.

Dave got home from work, & I crawled into bed.  Not because I needed to sleep, but because I just needed a good preggo Mama hormonal cry.  And so I closed the doors, & I pulled the blankets over my head, & I heaved.

And I just felt so much better for all o’ that heaving.  And after the heaving was done, I decided that the next time we come across some cash, I’m going to book two nights in Daylesford, by myself.  No Dave, no Max, no television, minimal iPhone use, the four walls of whatever budget accommodation I opt to stay in, silence, a notepad, & the clearing of my thoughts.

~

* My most sincere apologies for all of the ‘flippings’, ‘shitfuls’, ‘pricks’ & ‘bitches’ you were just subjected to in this post.

** It really has just been that kinda fortnight.   

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When Max was sixteen months old, a beautiful friend contacted me & said, ‘let’s take photos of you & Max!’.  We were work colleagues-come friends, & so she was on my Facebook friends list, & it was there that she noticed the majority of the photos I posted were either of Dave + Max, or Max, or Dave, or basically any combination of our family really, apart from myself.

And I think any woman, & especially any Mother can relate to this.  You’re so busy making sure there are all of these beautiful moments within your child’s childhood worth celebrating, & then you’re so busy making sure you photograph these beautiful moments because you think ‘well, who the hell else will?!’, & then you look back at your family album & you realise that you’re the only person missing from them.

Don’t you worry though, I no longer see that my not being in those photos translates to my not being there.  What I mean is, I know my children will know I was there, & they won’t need the photos to prove it.  Because they’ll have the memories, & they’ll just know that I was the person responsible for all of the ‘behind the scenes’.  They’ll look back & know that I was most likely the one planning, & preparing, & creating, & perhaps baking, & hosting, & meeting, & greeting, & just watching them enjoy, & then being that person to think about photographing their enjoyment.

I think this is why I blog though, to make up for this profound lack of presence in our family’s album.  I feel like I’m getting that chance to say, ‘hey, I was here.  And I loved you.  Endlessly’, without needing the photo of me holding my son & gazing lovingly into his eyes while he blows out the candles on his birthday cake to prove it.

My husband is a lot of good things, but a photographer he is not.  He neither sees the moments worthy of capture, or if he does, he doesn’t think to capture them.  It’s not because he’s selfish, he’s just not wired to think ‘this is a beautiful moment – I should take a photo of this’.  If you follow me on instagram, you’ll know I’m the one who sees the prettier moments life has to offer, & then thinks ‘I should capture this!’.  Sadly, those moments have been mostly snapped from my iPhone, because let’s face it , that’s the extent of my photographic talents.

So when my friend offered to take photos of Max & I way back when he was sixteen months old, I said ‘yes.  Absolutely!’.  And I’ll be honest, at the time I didn’t even want to really see what a photo of myself would even look like.  I was in the depths of my night shift working related hell, I was working five nights per week & sleeping an hour or two post each shift.  As a result I was pale, & I was washed out, & I felt lifeless, & then my hair started falling out in clumps, & my God I was just so depressed, but I put my vanity aside & had some photos taken with my son.  And honestly? You actually can’t tell that I was really any of those things, apart from the fairly obvious receding hairline as a result of said hair falling out in clumps.  But the lifelessness, & the fatigue, & the depression? … you can’t see that.

And now I’ve earnt a place in my family’s album.

This is the kind of gift that photographer’s get to give families, & I just don’t think you could ever put a dollar figure on that.  To all of those beautiful photographic folk like Claire, I can assure you that wives of husbands who don’t appreciate the true value of a photograph give an incredibly appreciative nod in your general direction & truly do thank you for your photographic eye, your patience, your post session editing, & the kind of photos that will be proudly displayed on the walls of homes for many years to come.

Claire & I caught up again last week at the same location, only this time it was with a twenty-eight month old Max, a happy Mama & her twenty-five week old baby bump, & I just can’t wait to show you the photos.

If you’re after beautiful family photography to add to the walls of your home, & the pages of your family’s album, you can find Claire here.

If you’re after every one of these images on disc & at a good rate, tell Claire that Cherie sent you, & she’ll photograph your family & give you every accompanying image for $300.

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So, Easter was last weekend, I know, but I’m just that busy, & that pregnant, & that tired for seemingly no other apparent reason other than that I am working, & pregnant & wrangling one child of the toddler variety, & so any time for blogging has had to be allocated to a time where I’m not feeling so … tired.

And, well … that ain’t really all that often, actually.

Our Easter though, was incredible, for no other reason other than the fact that it meant Dave was home for four days straight.  I’ll be completely honest with you now & tell you that three years ago, I’d have just read that last sentence & most likely completely cringed at its sheer … ugh, I don’t know, neediness?! I mean, an Easter weekend being ‘incredible’ for no other reason other than my partner being home to share in it with me?! The formerly more independent me would think that’s kinda … pathetic.  But the thing is, I’m a wife now, & a Mother, & I’m married to someone who pulls some pretty crazy work hours, & so formerly independence loving me craves togetherness now.  Nothing more than it, really.  And it’s this togetherness that I chase, & then it’s this togetherness that I bask in, & that we all bask in when we get it.  And our Easter weekend brought four straight days of it, & so that’s what happiness has become to me in these years of my life, because that seems to be the thing that bring so much obvious happiness to my son.

All of us, together.

Good Friday was simply every kind of good because Max fell asleep at 6pm the night prior, & I followed forty-eight minutes later.  This alone, was just so good.  It got even better when Dave got up to Max the next morning at 5.58am, kissed me on the forehead & told me to ‘just sleep’, proceeded to turn my mobile phone off so that I wouldn’t think about anything other than sleep or have any kind of awareness of what the time was, & then closed our bedroom doors, (& in doing so, closed the doors to any kind of parental responsibilities on my part for the remainder of that morning).

And I didn’t wake until 12pm.  Seriously, 12pm.  I don’t even know why I slept for seventeen hours consecutively, because there were really a million other things I could have been doing, but … I did.  Because I guess I just really needed it.  And I’m glad I did, because with a second babe on the way, I think it’ll be an incredibly long time before an opportunity like that presents itself again.  And I can’t even begin to tell you what seventeen hours of sleep does for your marriage, & for your tolerance levels of all things toddler related.  All I can say is for the remainder of my Easter weekend, I really did feel like the ultimate wife & Mother.  Really, I did. 

Max fell asleep early the night before Easter, & we just honestly basked in his understanding of it all for his first time really.  He was excited, & he literally sent himself off to sleep chanting ‘eat-a-bunny! eat-a-bunny! eat-a-bunny!’.  While he slept I wrapped his presents, & decorated them with Easter inspired pastel pom poms.  And he woke to these presents the next morning, & a little trail of Easter eggs.

It was perfect, really.

How was your Easter?

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