I feel like so much has happened since I last posted here before Frankie’s birth, & the few times I’ve been able to find the time to pop in following. I feel like I’d need ten different posts on ten different topics just to bring y’all up to speed, & we all know a newbie Mum doesn’t have ten posts in her. Actually, no, I do have ten posts in me (I have more than ten, I write posts in my head every day about the varying topics covering newborn’hood round two) – it’s moreso that I don’t have the time to sit down & y’know … type it all out. But oh, how my head is filled with the so-many-things-I-want-to-talk-about versus the not-enough-time-to-do-so.
I’m afraid, this leaves me with no other option than to refer to the dot point.
Beautiful, little Max. He’s amazing. He’s doing amazingly well. He’s happy, he’s thriving, he’s adapting. He did have a week or so there following Frankie’s birth where he wasn’t ok, & so I was the person who he took his ‘not being ok’ out on, & I’ll be honest – it really hurt, because it’s the first time in our relationship that he’s genuinely not wanted a bar of me. He was like a little boy lost. The beauty in this whole scenario however, is that he turned to Dave, & I suspect their strengthened bond will be one they’ll enjoy forever. And of course as Frankie feeds in that frenzied clustered newborn manner less, & in turn sleeps more, I’ve dedicated that newfound down time solely to Max. We read, we craft, we tell stories, we explore our new front yard, & I breathe … because in my hormonal newborn Mama state, I quietly wondered if I’d ‘lost’ him.
Yes indeedy, I’m rather irrational when pumped full of week one post partum hormones.
Our relationship takes a hit when there’s a newborn on the scene. It did with Max, it has done so with Frankie, it will ultimately be ok again, & is already on its way to being just so, but still … I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t take a hit. We’re both just tired, & we’re both just not all that fabulous at dealing with stress, & then I’m also ca-razy hormonal, & so we argue.
I love him. He loves me. We both know this. We both also know that we don’t navigate newborn’hood so great. And so with all of this in mind, we’ll be ok.
I’m in a really good place with my friends. It’s a really good place. I think it’s the kind of really good place that just comes with growing up, & gaining maturity, & then having an increased self esteem as a result of all of this growing up & gaining of maturity. These days, I really just know what I will & won’t put up with in friendship, & so I’m simply left with this really small, & really select group of women who I just kinda know aren’t out to … fuck me over. And I have to be honest, it really is just nice to have a small group of women who seem to love me for me (even the me who’s notoriously bad at returning text messages), & have my best interests at heart.
I feel loved, & I love them for it.
// Friends having babies
My best friend had her first baby. She’s Max’s Godmother, & my best friend.
We were six weeks behind each other during pregnancy, & ended up birthing our babes six weeks apart. I’ve seen so many babies, & I love them all, but there’s something really special about your best friend’s baby. It’s like this precious little being, to come out of one of your very favourite beings.
And I guess I’m just excited to share our Mothering days together.
To my beautiful best friend; you will laugh, you will cry, you will pull your hair out & you will fall in love over & over again. You will never look back. Welcome to parenthood.
I’ve been battling with a heap of guilt, does it seriously ever go away?!
I worry about the less attention I can give to Max, & the less attention Frankie has versus what Max had when he was a newbie babe. I worry about the fact that by seven weeks of age, Max already had a thousand’ish photos & Frankie has less than a hundred’ish. I worry about the fact that when Max was a newbie babe, he enjoyed a quiet house & uninterrupted sleep. I worry about the fact that Frankie has to sleep through a toddler who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘quiet’, & also often has her sleep interrupted so that we can make our way to Max’s twice weekly playgroups etc. I worry about how I read text messages & forget to reply to them, read e-mails & forget to reply to them, read Facebook messages & forget to reply to them, & then … I worry about how that must make my friends feel. I worry about the fact that the house is filthy, & about how Dave & I don’t sit down to dinner until around 9.30pm’ish (… if we even end up eating at all!).
Yep. Me & guilt? We’ve been fierce companions from the very first day of Motherhood, & I feel we’ll continue our relationship right through until the very end.
I love blogging, only because I just love writing. I could write forever, really. Max & Frankie will never have amazing photographs of themselves, because I’m just not much of a photographer. I’m not a scrapbooker either, nor am I a crafter, a baker, or anything really other than a busy Mum with a penchant for writing about my children’s lives.
I’ve read things during my blogging travels about bloggers being narcissistic, or attention seeking, or worse … exploitive of their children. And hey, maybe it’s all true? But I really don’t think my being here choosing to share snippets of our lives via this online space makes me any one of those things, I’m just here … telling my children all about when they were children, & that’s just it.
That really is just it.
I don’t seek money, fame, sponsored content, or really anything other than my words to pass onto my children, because those words really are just the only material way I can think to show them how much I love them.
Lately though, I’ll admit I find myself pulling back, sharing less, filtering more, & it’s all just a natural progression, I guess? Y’know, it’s 2013, & so there is just so much I have to be mindful of; online predators, online trolls, our digital footprint, & maybe even more predatory than all of that … future school Mums, ha!
And so, all of my ‘Mother Lion’ instincts are kicking in & there are just more & more posts remaining in draft because I’ve simply thought about how they might impact me, or my children in the future, & so … they’ve subsequently remained unpublished.
It’s a self preservation thing, really.
// Birthing Frankie Jean
It took 36 hours to birth her, it will simply take a little longer to tell that story.
I’m breastfeeding. I’m actually breastfeeding. My baby latches on, & stays on, & drinks, no actually … she gulps her way through each feed, & I just can’t believe something I wanted so much is happening to me, & us, … her & I.
I went in with an open mind, & told myself not to lose my shit if I wasn’t able to breastfeed again like last time, but deep down, deep deep down, I knew I’d lose my shit all over again if it didn’t work out (even if the only person who was allowed to see me losing my shit over it all not working out, was Dave).
But I’m breastfeeding, & it’s a journey that’s already been plagued by some rather non supportive people around me, mastitis, & then the subsequent nipple thrush I developed courtesy of the antibiotics I was pumped with. And so I have to say it, I just really have to say it, I’m so stinking proud of me.
And if all of my milk dries up tomorrow, I’ll still be so stinking proud of me.
And so there you have it, the last seven weeks (& beyond) in dot point.
More to follow, I promise (when I find that elusive time).
Photography by that beautiful friend o’ mine, Lecinda from Little Moments.