Raising Master Max

A couple of years ago, a house in our street caught fire & burnt to the ground courtesy of a candle having been left on overnight.  Nobody was injured, thank God, courtesy of a really quite heroic neighbour going in & pulling everyone out.

Amazing man. 

Our street filled with smoke, & fire trucks, & police, & curious neighbours, & basically … well, everyone … (apart from Dave & I).  Actually, we were really the only people who slept throughout the whole ordeal.  We never smelt the smoke, & we didn’t hear the sirens, & we didn’t even see the flashing lights of the fire trucks & the police cars coming in through our bedroom windows like every other neighbour had woken to, & we certainly didn’t hear any of our beloved neighbours congregating in the street watching in horror as not much of that house was able to be saved.

Can I just say that in Dave & I’s defence, we had the youngest baby in the street.  And at this point in time, we also had the baby who appears to have been sleeping the least out of all of the children in our street combined.  And so on the one night that little Max did indeed sleep through the night, Dave & I also successfully managed to sleep through our neighbours house burning down.

Ever since our having been able to sleep through this event, we’ve realised co-sleeping with our child would probably never, & should probably never be an option – given that we seem to be able to sleep so deeply, we’ve both agreed there’s simply no way we’d risk co-sleeping & potentially rolling onto our baby without even realising it.

Now that we both co-sleep with Max, & have done so for maybe six to seven months, I can’t even believe I ever thought I may roll on to my child & not know it.  There must be a scientific reason, some kind of primal instinct, some kind of protective instinct, some kind of hormonal release, & some kind of parental awareness that never really quite allows you the ability to enter deep sleep whilst co-sleeping.  You know that stage of sleep you never probably truly appreciated being able to experience when you were in your mid 20’s, & not only sleeping through the night – but sleeping in until 10am as well?!  What I’m trying to say is that for every night that Max shares our bed, I am just so acutely aware that he’s there that it makes me smile when I remember fearing that I could ever roll on to him, & not know it.

And the thing is, & here’s where any severely sleep deprived parent is going to want to sucker punch me, or grab me by the shoulders & shake me & tell me that I’m deluded, but … I love it.  I love that co-sleeping was something we never considered, nor was it something we even wanted to consider, but it’s just something that has happened due to us I guess, following our parental gut instincts, & just really due to Max seeming to need to sleep next to us of late.  And the thing is, he never seemed to need this before, but he needs it now, & he settles immediately when he’s there, & he sleeps in as a result of his being next to us, & so it just works for us.

I love only having to open my eyes & be able to see him, right there in between the two people he loves the very most, & even in the darkness of night, I can see that he’s smiling while he sleeps.  And it’s just this most contented little smile.  Twenty years from now, I hope I don’t ever forget waking up to his tiny little face, & that contented little smile.

I love that when he stirs, his stirs no longer ever reach crying point, & our inevitable middle of the night walk down the hallway & into his room to settle him, because he stirs now, & then I touch him, & he literally just about purrs.  And then he’s asleep again.  And then I’m asleep again.  And it’s as simple as that, really.

I know that Dave enjoys being next to him, because his work hours see him leave before Max wakes, & sometimes not return home before he’s asleep again that night.  And so I know that Dave is grateful to experience his little boy, even if it’s just the purring, & that contented little smile in the dark of the night.

The other night Max was sick & running fevers, & needing us more than ever.  He wasn’t even able to settle sleeping in between us, but instead seemed to need to be on us.  I’m not going to lie, the quality of my sleep wasn’t of its usual quality, but Max woke often & rotated between being on top of Dave, & then on top of me, begging for ‘cuttles’ {cuddles}.  And there was this moment where I got to watch how this little family of three operates, & I saw exactly how my husband & I share our parenting responsibilities equally – taking it in turns to tend to our sick little boy with the cuddles that he needed, & the kisses to make him ‘all better’.

I’ll be honest, I wondered how Dave was feeling knowing that he had to wake early for work.  Almost within that same moment, Dave turned to me with his son asleep on his chest, & he kissed his head, turned to me & whispered, ‘I love him Chez’.

And that’s how I know that for now, co-sleeping works for this little family.  Things will change, I know this.  We’ll have another baby’s needs to consider, Max will grow, there will be less room in our little bed for him, & that’s ok – but for now, I guess we’re still just a little bit caught up in the romance of enjoying our little boy while he’s little.

And we’re only two years into this whole parenting biz – so I’m always grateful to people who just let me be romantic about the aspects of parenting that I like to be romantic about.  Because God knows there’s a lot that’s not so er, … glamorous. 

~

Now, if it’s a non romantic account of life as a co-sleeper you’re after, I think you’ll thoroughly enjoy this post by self-titled ‘unexpected SAHD’. Or at least, I did.

{ 21 comments }

Hello friends,

Things are busy here at the moment – perhaps you already noticed this to be the case from my once upon a time daily blogging now seemingly being reduced to once or twice a week blogging, … if I’m lucky.

Behind the scenes here in the Raising Master Max household, we have in fact decided to sell our house, move a hell of a lot closer to Dave’s work (as in, a 10-15 minute drive away), gain a hell of a lot more family time as a direct result of this, & yes … lose a bit (or a lot) of square metre’age in the process, but gain a lot more freedom with our mortgage repayments as a direct result.

We are going to auction on a couple of do-er upper-ers.  And when I say ‘do-er upper-er’, I mean … they don’t even have a laundry, because that’s the kinda price range we’re looking in when I boast about being a 10-15 minute drive from Dave’s work.  However, if it appears that we’re not even able to crack that market, we’ll be renting.  So either way, we have a bit (or a lot) of financial freedom to look forward to, & a hell of a lot more family time to look forward to.

Max is thriving back at home with me, & this almost immediate change only serves to confirm that I’ve made the right choice in pulling him out of care.  Either way, I’m going to be slammed for this decision.  I already have some questioning my decision to pull him out of care after only having had him in care for less than eight weeks, & so I guess they feel qualified to suggest that he wasn’t in long enough to even settle in properly.  And then I also have others slamming me for not having pulled him out sooner, (as you may have seen in the comments section of my last post).  Disappointing really, because as if Motherhood isn’t difficult enough, but then you go & throw in working Motherhood & all of the accompanying side orders of guilt, & I can assure you I beat myself up enough for every mistake that I either make, don’t make, or simply think I make without needing any further commentary from the obvious supermums who’ve never made a God damned mistake in their Mothering life.

Yep, we’re going to cop a few financial blows as a result of day care not having worked out, but that’s relatively easy fixed with the selling of our house, the potential purchasing of a much smaller home, or the not even purchasing another home in favour of renting.  The thing is, it doesn’t matter what we do, or where we live, if Max is happy … this little family unit is happy, & that is all that matters. 

My social media management work is busy.  Holy Mother, it is busy! It’s busy because I’m working my arse off trying to be better, always better, but it’s also busy because I’m doing this around Max.  When he’s awake, he’s the very obvious priority.  And when he’s asleep, I’m running around like a little freak playing catch up.  But I really do love what I’m doing, & I’d even go as far as saying I’m getting better at what I am doing, & I even see so much potential for this to be a full-time career for me, but … I have a two year old, & a little lady baby growing in the oven, & I have all of this ambition … coupled with this desire to be there for my children, really be there, & so the full-time ambitious dreams are for the moment, just going to have to wait.

In the interim, I juggle, & I enjoy the best of both worlds.  Full-time Mothering, & part-time work.  And yes, some days I become frustrated at my not being able to find the balance, & I’ll blog about that here when I feel the need, but for the most part … I feel blessed to have the balance that I do (even if it means I was up until the wee hours finishing a work related something last night – that’s ok!).

This week Max has asked me a ga-zillion times if he’s going to school.  And he doesn’t ask this in an excited ‘am I going to school today?!’ way, but in a more ‘please don’t make me go to school today!’, & so I’ve answered a ga-zillion times, ‘no.  No more school.  Not until you’re ready, darling’.  And he literally exhales, and he is immediately content, & this alone tells me he’s just one of those little boys who wasn’t ready.

… and I’m just sorry that I made the mistake in thinking that he was.  And so we simply wait until he is.  And it’s as simple as that, really.

{ 39 comments }

Sometimes, I’m really just blown away by the kind of changes that can take place within but just a short week.  Last week I spoke about the chaos that used to exist in our lives, & how it just didn’t seem to exist there any more, courtesy of my having quit night shift + nursing.  I spoke about finding a new rhythm with my newfound social media editing career, & my being able to work-from-home doing so.  And I spoke about being able to pull off said work-from-home career + work-from-home hours, courtesy of Max having began his two days per week Montessori schooling just eight weeks ago.

Actually, Max attending Montessori has been the only real element of chaos within all of this newfound rhythm.  And when I say chaos, I’m referring to what I had thought was just the usual adjustment required by a two year old little boy who was leaving his Mama’s side for the first time.  I thought his having to be literally peeled from my hip as if he were a baby koala every time we said our goodbyes at the Montessori drop off was just one of those usual ‘adjustment’ things, & I thought all of his screaming {whilst being completely horrendous!} was another one of the difficult aspects of his adjusting, & I thought my sitting in the car crying post every drop off was just one of those rites of passages that all women take when they’re returning to work & having to part with their ‘baby’ for the first time.

And then I dropped Max off at Montessori on Monday morning this week, & it was then that I was invited into the director’s office to speak about his progress, which I then learnt was actually the opposite of progress really.  I mean, I knew, I’m his Mother … of course I knew.  But I spoke to so many others, who all told similar tales of very similar difficult adjustments for their own children, & it all seemed like time was the only solution.  And so I kept telling myself to give him time, & that perhaps then everything would be ok.

Everything was not ok, & I learnt on Monday that he’s just become progressively worse; his cries more hysterical, & this hysterical crying going for longer periods of time, his refusing of any sleep, & his refusing of all foods, & then his refusal to engage with any of the children in his room.

At home, there was similar chaos.

Over the eight weeks that Max had began Montessori, I felt like I was watching his confidence completely deteriorate.  I was also sure he seemed to be becoming increasingly anxious; more clingy than his usual cling, completely melting down whenever we dressed him & having to be told each time, ‘no, you’re not going to school today’, his needing me by his side at all times, his needing to be in our bed every night, & in the last week of his attending Montessori, he would literally start shaking when I told him we were going to school today.

It goes without saying that the whole process hasn’t just broken his spirit, but mine too. 

I guess I was hanging for that elusive ‘three month mark’ where all new situations seem to become that little bit better & I really did think everything would get better, but after speaking with the director on Monday I know now that he’s just not coping.  And so I’ve not hesitated in following her advice to pull him out & restart him at three years of age.  I have to be honest, I really do appreciate that they were at least honest with me, as opposed to just continuing to take our $200 per week when in her own words, he just wasn’t getting anything out of the program that other children his age are getting.  And if anything, he’s simply not ready for their program.  In fact, he really just seems all the worse for even having attended.

And so now, life is a little bit {or a lot!} chaotic again.  Because I’m still at home, & I’m still working, but there are no longer any respite days where I can knock off a heap of work uninterrupted.  And if anything, I have an even clingier-than-usual two-year-old little boy.

And I have a little boy who needs his confidence restored,

And I have work schedules that need to be maintained,

And I have a mortgage that needs to be paid & was just finally enjoying really being paid as a result of my recently increased hours, {courtesy of Max’s being in Montessori},

… and so I can’t help but have this niggly sick feeling that I may need to pick up a night shift or two to supplement any lost income from the hours I’ve already had to reduce this week if I’m not able to find a suitable care solution soon for Max.  And it’s all just making me feel a little bit sick, & a lot stressed really.

So yes, all of that newfound rhythm I was boasting about this little family having gone & found themselves last week is beginning to feel like that all too familiar chaotic feeling once more.  And that just makes me want to scream, ‘fuck!’. 

A big salute to all of the working Mama’s out there, it’s a flipping tough gig, ain’t it?!

{ 45 comments }

The chaos that once existed in our house is really beginning to find rhythm despite my new increased work hours & work-from-home schedule, plus Dave’s increased work hours & work schedule, & then Dave’s decision to play one more year of competitive football, (which by the way required a lot of negotiation + compromise on both of our parts).  I guess that’s the art of a good marriage though, right? Compromise.  I should add though that when I say there was negotiation + compromise, I actually mean … there were arguments, & tears, & a whole lot of ‘I cannot flipping believe you’re going to play another season’.  In the end though, the money he earns playing is what motivates me to tolerate one more season of football, & the passion he feels whilst playing is what keeps him wanting to play season after {flipping!} season.

For me, my decision to leave nursing nearly seven months ago now has meant a $500 decrease in my weekly pay.  It’s a decrease I’ve been more than happy to wear given that in order to clear that $500 more than I do now per week, I had to work five nights per week from 7pm until 3am, then fall into bed after & pray that I’d be asleep by 4am, then wake anywhere between 5-6am the next day depending on whenever Max decided to start his new day, & then stay awake all day raising my beloved child, & then greet my husband when he returned home from his day job, & then commence my next night shift.

On one to two hours sleep.  Every day.  For eighteen months.

When I look back on those eighteen months of night shift, I see someone who was existing on nothing more than adrenalin & oh, I don’t know … Mama spirit?! I see photos of myself from that eighteen month period, & I see someone who was just … miserable.  I see someone who wasn’t living, but moreso just … existing.  And I see someone whose marriage was existing on nothing more than the memory of what her relationship was like before there were those health complications, which lead to the significant debt, which lead to the seriously miserable marriage.  And believe me when I tell you that before there was any of all of that, there was this passionate kind of love, & best kind of best friendship that we both used to know others used to envy.

In every photo it’s like my mouth was smiling but my eyes couldn’t.  They were about as vacant looking as my soul felt.  I was just a person, smiling to be polite, but really just wanting to scream, ‘this isn’t the life I imagined for myself! This isn’t the marriage I thought a love like ours would end up with.  This isn’t the kind of Mother I’d hoped to be, someone who was just too exhausted to care’.

On the outside, everything looked ok I guess.  I mean, I always looked unshowered, & disheveled, & depressed-looking, but then I had night shift fatigue to blame all o’ that on, & that was a mostly good enough excuse for anyone that didn’t really give a fuck.  To this day, I’m still amazed at just how many people didn’t actually give that fuck that I thought they might.  Y’know, the kinds of people that were always the people in your life who you thought would?

Not my best friend though, she holed me up in the bathroom of my in-laws house one day, & did the ‘are you ok? No, really … are you ok?’, & in all honesty, it was the first time anyone had asked within those eighteen or so months, & so I was almost just completely overwhelmed (& not to mention, embarrassed!) by the flood of tears that ensued.  Really, they just wouldn’t stop.  I don’t even remember what I told her, I don’t think I was actually able to form sentences, they were moreso just short words that were trying to describe the pain like, ‘exhausted’, & ‘unsupported’, & ‘unloved’, & ‘forgotten’, & ‘I can’t do this any more.  I feel … dead’.

So you see, something had to give.  And it was that $500 extra per week.  Sure, it got us out of debt.  I also truly believe that another six months in the living hell that had become my daily life would have ended my marriage, torn this family apart, & seen my mental health deteriorate to a state that would have surely required medical intervention.

Instead, I quit night shift, & nursing altogether.  I chose happiness, & healthiness.  I chose my family, & together we said, ‘don’t worry about that $500 loss, we’ll find a way’.  I saw a doctor, & they diagnosed depression, but I wasn’t entirely convinced.  I didn’t want to come across smug-like, or like I knew more than a mental health professional, because I don’t, but I also knew that I just needed sleep.  And recovery.  Seriously, I know this might sound melodramatic, but I really just felt that I needed to recover from what had been eighteen months of a really quite torturous existence.

I also knew that I was 4 weeks pregnant with our second child, & so I was hesitant to go down the chemical path without being entirely sure I wasn’t just experiencing a situational depression, as opposed to the more clinical depression they were describing.  If it was the latter, then yes, I was open to medicating myself accordingly.

As it turns out, I just needed sleep.  And recovery. 

It’s taken seven months, but I’m happy again.  Really happy.  Sometimes, I even feel like I am glowing.  I’m 22 weeks pregnant with our daughter, & I know there’s no way she could have ever been conceived whilst I was living through my night shift hell.  The truth is, she wouldn’t have wanted to be around in our world back then, it wasn’t a happy place.

I look back on the photos from that eighteen month period now, & I see someone who was just the shell of everything she used to be.  Nowadays though? I just feel like the person who was everything she used to be again.

… & can I just say all of that is more than worth the $500 difference in my weekly income.  We are not going to be one of those families who enjoy overseas holidays, or even regular family holidays.  And I highly doubt now that we’ll ever get that house in our dream suburb like we were feverishly saving for, but what we have instead is happiness.

And you just can’t put a dollar figure on that folks!

{ 23 comments }

Life has been insane lately.  There’s been both good kinds of insane, & bad kinds of insane.  Mostly though, all of my insane simply relates to this attempt to work-from-home-whilst-wrangling-toddler-during-pregnancy kind of insane.  And it’s not to say that I’m not grateful for this opportunity, I am.  I am just also acutely aware that any kind of work from home that you attempt to pull off with a toddler ultimately ends up with you tearing your hair out, & pushing any work you weren’t able to do during the day into the evening, which on a lot of days … is most of it.  And so you work into the evening.  As in, late late evening.  And then you’re reminded how pregnant you are, & how tired this makes you feel.  Needless to say, I’m a bit of a prick to be around right now.  The anger, the mood swings, the screaming to Dave of the ‘you don’t understand’s!’. 

Yes indeedy, we’re a happy little household here at present.

Thankfully, I’ve been able to refrain from displaying any kind of psychotic-pregnant-hormonal-lady hormones towards you Max, & I’m doing my best to keep it this way, I really am. After all, you are only 27 months old, & so I have to breathe & remind myself of this when you are literally screaming at my ankles every time I attempt to step into the office in order to respond to a quick work e-mail here & there.  So often, I feel torn between being perfectionistic me with my perfectionistic work ethic, & being the flipping perfectly perfect Earth Mother I dreamt of being before the actual realities of Motherhood & working Motherhood presented themselves to me.

And so we juggle.  And I continue to seek the balance.  And I settle instead on being the best I can be at my job whilst wrangling a toddler, which isn’t the best, but is also good enough.  And I settle too on the fact that some days, you will be plonked in front of the TV & given tiny teddy biscuits while I attend to my work- from-home demands.

:: you are 27 months old now, & so epic tantrums have simply become a part of our everyday routine.  I am completely used to them, & no longer as much in shock at the departure of my placid baby in exchange for this temporary toddler version of the Incredible Hulk.  We just roll with the punches, & discipline accordingly & in accordance with our own parenting beliefs & values.  On the particularly bad days though, I try to remind myself that all of this is just your personality evolving & your desire for that small taste of independence.  I also have to remind myself of who you’ve come from, which is quite easily two of the most stubborn people you’ll ever meet (i.e your Mama & your Daddy).

:: I went to my Dad & I asked if he remembered any of my or my sisters tantrums, & if it was a particularly challenging time for him.  He said his problems with us were actually the complete opposite of challenging tantrums, in that we were virtually mute from the years of neglect & abuse whilst with our Mother.  Almost instantaneously, I felt grateful that my only parenting challenge to date is a tantrum’ing toddler, & not two children who just about need to be entirely reprogrammed in order to be able to love & trust once more.

:: once again Papa Bear, you have my utmost respect.

:: Max, your sleeping is ridiculous.  Actually, it’s not ridiculous, I’m just being selfish.  But in the space of four weeks you’ve dropped your day naps, decided on a much later bedtime, & a much earlier wake time.

:: your pregnant Mama is exhausted, darling.

:: the other day you said something that just made the most amount of sense out of any, or all of your toddler babble.  You said, ‘Mama itchy.  Cut tag.  Scissors’.  You were referring to the tag on your T-shirt, & I just smiled while I cut it, because I was proud of your growing & this almost-sentence o’ yours.

:: one day very soon, you & I are going to start making so much sense to one another.

:: we think we’ve cured your fussy eating.  You will now eat most meals we present to you.  However, you will do so only on the proviso that these meals are eaten on the front porch whilst you watch every car that passes by.  Then & only then, will you happily eat your dinner.  We’re yet to figure out who’s actually won in this scenario, but you’re eating every vegetable, so I’m still convinced it’s a parental win.

:: and yes, we know, in Winter … we’re screwed.

:: you live for ‘cuttles’ (cuddles).  In this regard, you remind me of your Daddy, who craves affection in a similar way.  It’s a beautiful trait to have, & I hope it never leaves you.

We’ve all had a challenging month together while we battle an imbalance of work schedules, social schedules, our all too familiar financial concerns, pregnancy hormones, toddlerhood & its accompanying challenges, & my homesickness & craving for family.  But you see, the beautiful thing about our family unit is that there’s best friendship within it, & a whole lot of love.

And so that always seems to rise above any of the usual challenges we face.

We love you Max, we loved newborn you, we loved infant you, & we absolutely love toddler you.  You just have this way of making loving you so easy.  Even on the bad days, you still have those ridiculous lashes!

{ 23 comments }

Long before I entered this Motherhood caper, someone, I only wish I could remember who, told me that the best thing you can do for your children is to take them outside as much as possible.  They said there’s no better classroom than the outdoor one, & this has been something that’s stuck with me, always.

Now I am a Mother, & I am able to see just how true those words of advice really were, & so Max & I get outdoors, a lot.  We go for long walks, & I slow down to his pace, & I show him things, & let him touch them, & I point out everything that I know in the hopes that he might want to know these same things himself.  I think that’s one of the best things about toddlers – there’s nearly nothing they don’t want to know (apart from the joy of saying yes to fruits & vegetables, of course!).

I’ve come to seriously love Wednesday mornings, because it’s on Wednesday mornings that we take seriously long walks, & we take these walks together really early in the morning.  And when I say really early, I mean as soon as Max wakes up early, which is generally any time between 5-6am.  And you know what? I look forward to it (the walk that is, not the 5am wakeup).

On Wednesdays, I’m always in a pretty good state of mind.  Max has been at Montessori on the Monday & Tuesday leading up to our stay-at-home-Wednesdays, & so I’ve as a result been able to plough through a heap of work & various deadlines, & this gifts to me my ability to head into Wednesdays with a clear mind & a promise with myself to make the day entirely about Max, & his happiness.  And after two full days at Montessori, & his still having not fully accepted having to even go to Montessori (an entire post in itself), I feel that this is what he deserves come Wednesdays.

This entire day, dedicated to him.

And it’s funny y’know, because it’s like he wakes up just knowing this.  He has his stock standard ‘I can’t believe Daddy has gone to work without me’ every day tantrum, & there are of course tears aplenty, & my having to explain to him that Daddy has to go to work, & has been going to work for every day of his two years of life to date, & that he will most likely have to continue to go to work for the remainder of Max’s childhood & beyond.  And so with that, the tantrum runs its natural course & Max then looks at me & says, ‘Mama work?’.  And I tell him no, I have no work to do today.  And he follows this up with, ‘Max school?’.  And I tell him no, there’s no school for Max today.  And he just smiles, & I swear you can almost hear the audible sigh of relief, & this alone is bittersweet.  I’m deliriously happy that he’s happy to spend the day with me, & just me.  At the same time, I’m shattered that he is just not enjoying Montessori as much as I hoped he might (another entire post in itself).

His next request is always the same, ‘walk?’.  And so we walk.  We walk for over an hour, & I bring the pram for that moment when his chubby little legs can walk no more.  But what I love most is taking this walk at his pace, & pointing out everything I might know in the hopes that he might also want to know it.  He chases leaves, & picks up snails.  He admires every car & truck & taxi that passes us by on one of the more main roads that we walk along our travels, & he tells me the colour of every single one of them.  He holds my hand when he feels like he needs that reassurance, & he lets it go when he wants to chase birds, or the next adventure.

I think I might just be creating beautiful memories for him, & isn’t that essentially what childhood is all about?

I love our early morning walks.  He loves his outdoor classroom.

{ 28 comments }

I began this blog in the Winter of 2011 on the back of shutting down my own personal Facebook account because quite frankly, it was the wrong social media forum for me.  I was a brand new parent, & a brand new seriously proud parent, & I was also a brand new parent with family nowhere near where I was living in Melbourne.  I was homesick for Adelaide, I was homesick for my family, I was craving for my family more than I could ever put into any old status update, & I guess I was craving for friends who might be able to become the family my heart was so desperately panging for.

The problem was, all of this didn’t translate very well on Facebook.  You see, it’s my humble opinion that Facebook is best suited to two types of people; those who are able to just share snippets, & … men.  Because no one can ever really be criticised for having just shared snippets of their lives, & as for the men? … Well, most of the men on my Facebook feed might share a couple of sports related posts here & there & then a funny update or two, & they’re generally hailed as social media heroes.

Me? I am neither a snippet person, nor am I a man.  And so when I first became a Mother, well I took to Facebook in a rather excessive way to share my pride, & my joy.  And yes ok, I might have also wanted to break up a little bit of that newfound isolation that comes with the seemingly never ending ‘sleep-feed-burp-repeat’ cycle.  But mostly? I just wanted to cure my homesickness by way of ensuring neither my Dad, nor my sister missed any of Max’s growing.

As I said above, it was the wrong forum.  I know this now, I just didn’t know it then.  And so I can assure you, I am acutely aware I’d have done the absolute heads in of my 600 strong friends list, which included former work colleagues, childless friends, people I ‘once upon a time’ went to university with, my husband’s footballing friends, & various other types who should not have had to have been subjected to my daily, & sometimes twice daily photo loads of Max.  And nor should they have had to have been subjected to my daily, & sometimes twice daily status updates about Motherhood.

I recognised this.  I shut my Facebook down.  I found blogging.  I never looked back.  

Max was seven months old when I began sharing my stories of Motherhood here {he’s twenty-seven months old now}, & I can’t describe the release I felt when I was able to open a blank document & turn said document into the stories that will now be gifted to my children one day.  They’re the stories that I couldn’t ever fit into any ‘140-characters-or-less’ status updates, & they’re the stories that the countless photos I used to take on my iPhone never used to be able to do justice to, & they’re the stories I get to share without fear of ridicule.

I write because I need to write, & because my husband likes to read what I write, & because my Dad & I connect on an even deeper level because of some of the things that I write, & because my sister is able to connect with her nephew through these stories whilst roaming the globe in the rather nomadic way in which she does, & because most importantly … my children will read this one day, & they will understand their parents, & the love between their parents, & they will learn about the kind of Mother they have via these stories of my Mothering journey, & they will see how their childhood was celebrated.  And so all of that really is this here space’s only intention.

And yes, whilst more people than my husband, my Dad & my sister read this blog now, it is still the same space with its same good intentions.  And I only know more people read it now, because it’s gone from 84 hits per month from the 3 unique readers per day being my loyal husband, my beloved Dad, & my nomadic sister to anywhere between 15,000-20,000’ish hits per month from God only knows who, & how, & why?!

All numbers, & who’s, & how’s, & why’s aside, this space has never steered from its original intention; stories written by me, for my children.  That anyone began to read along was just this most unexpected surprise, & has only served to provide me with a most incredible community of people I can now admit I was probably searching for in the ‘LBB’ {life before blogging} era I described above.

Dave has always struggled to understand the appeal.  Whilst he has always loved my words, he says he also loves them because they’re about him, or his son, & so that’s why they appeal to him.  And he doesn’t mean this in a derogatory way towards me or my writing, he’s just simply trying to understand where 15-20k hits per month come from, & why they want to read tales about middle class life in west suburban Melbourne, illustrated with photos that have mostly been taken with my iPhone.  And so I tell him, ‘babe, I’ve got no idea’.  Because the truth is, I honestly don’t.  But I do have this hunch you might be just like me, & so maybe you all went & got sick of Facebook too.

Maybe you just needed something a little bit more than 140 characters or less.

{ 29 comments }

I haven’t been around lately, & I really am so sorry.  The reasons for my bloggy absence is an entire post in itself, & one in which I will get around to writing as soon as I find the time, I promise.  Today is not the day to write that post however, because you see … I turned thirty on the weekend, & I really would much rather talk about that.

Six months before my thirtieth birthday, I bought a really slim, somewhat short, incredibly bright yellow dress with every intention of eating well & exercising enough to maybe even just be in a position to fit into said slim, short, bright yellow dress for my thirtieth birthday.  Needless to say, my pretty yellow dress now hangs at the back of the wardrobe, patiently waiting for pregnancy to be done with, & post baby weight loss to be done with, to have that chance to be worn one day, & worn well.

I believe she’ll be waiting a while.  Because I can assure you I neither wear pregnancy well, nor do I ever really recover from any associated pregnancy related weight gain.  I also have this uncanny ability to give birth right around the same time as Miranda Kerr, y’know … just for that added injection to ones already diminished self-esteem.

In the lead up to my thirtieth birthday I went from absolutely wanting one, to not wanting one courtesy of first trimester nausea + sickness, to wanting one again courtesy of the ‘I can pull-off-anything-just-watch-me’ aspect to my personality, to finally not wanting one again courtesy of hosting Max’s second birthday + our annual Christmas party in the months of December, all whilst ducking off to the bathroom to throw up what felt like the entire first trimester of my pregnancy.  After those two functions, reality well & truly set in, & I told Dave there was no way known I wanted a thirtieth, because quite frankly … I didn’t have it in me to cater for another human being again.

And so actually, what I really wanted for my thirtieth birthday was to just sit my lazy, pregnant arse down, & not have to host anything, or anyone, & enjoy ringing in the big 3-0 from the comfort of my own couch, in my oversized pyjamas, whilst gorging on a Magnum Ego (or two, … or three).

Dave then suggested that I perhaps could still have a thirtieth, but just not do it Cherie-style, which would mean not ordering invitations, & not catering, & not decorating, & not making my own cake, & not inviting every person I have ever known, & instead just sending out a last minute text to my nearest & dearest, ordering in pizzas, putting on some wine + beer for whoever showed up, & hosting them in a house I didn’t frantically clean before they arrived.

Well, guess what guys? … it was flipping awesome!

I wore a pretty pregnancy-flow dress, which was accessorised by my 18 week baby bump, & the pretty little girl living inside of said bump*.  And I simply basked in the effortlessness of really good company in my really quite non-clean home that I really, truly didn’t give a flying flip about its not having been cleaned to within an inch of its life before guests arrived.

I was just … happy.  Really happy.  Actually, I felt glowy.  Really glowy.

I couldn’t help but look around & come to the realisation that thirty appears to be a really good age.  I’m married to someone who loves me, really, truly loves me.  He is just this most kind, beautiful person, with ridiculous good looks to save himself from those days where he flipping irritates me beyond comprehension.  And we have a child together + one on the way, & I know we are raising them & will continue to raise them well.  Basically, I feel like I’ve gone & grown up to become that beautiful Mother I dreamt of having for myself, but far more important than that, I’ve gone & become that Mother to my children.

I’m proud of me.  And thirty feels good.

* yes.  We are having a little, baby girl!  No.  Max is not happy about this!  

{ 23 comments }

Life with twenty-six month old you is the busiest time I’ve known since the time that I first knew you, & since I first knew Motherhood.  When I say it’s the busiest time I’ve known since becoming a Mother, I don’t discount the newborn era, which is still a blurred haze of just getting to know you, & you me, & trying to navigate breastfeeding, & expressing, & your old catnapping ways, & burping, & settling, & navigating your reflux journey, & so on, & so on.

Yep.  That felt busy.  But when I think back to why I thought it was busy, I’d say I think it was because my mind was just so busy with those first-time-Mama worries, but the actual days themselves? Not so busy.  I’m sure I can recall being able to squeeze in a bit of reality TV amongst all of that newborn sleeping + feeding + burping + settling.

Twenty-six months old is a different kind of busy.  When you’re on, I’m on.  And I don’t switch ‘off’ until you’re asleep, & given that we’re back to that old, familiar territory of you hating sleep & fighting it every which way you can, there’s not a lot of ‘off’ time so to speak.  Like every difficult period we’ve ever experienced with you, I remind myself that this is not forever, & that it might always feel like it will be forever when you’re actually living that difficult period, but it is just a phase, like all of the other phases we’ve been through in your two years to date.

And so, I’m not going to dwell too much on a lot of the challenges we’re experiencing with you in your twenty-six months throughout this post, but instead I’d prefer to celebrate your beauty, because amongst all of the tantrums & refusing to do seemingly anything we’d like you to do, there’s a beautiful little boy growing up right in front of our eyes, & he appears to have developed both his Mama & his Daddy’s stubbornness.

Combined.  

Yep.  Doozy.

:: sometimes, you just prefer to sleep next to your Mama & Daddy.  I’m completely ok with this, despite the many that tell us we’re creating ‘rods for our own backs’.  I believe you’re just at an age where your separation anxiety has appeared to peak, & so you need us around you more than you’ve ever needed us before.  I know this, because when you slept next to us last night you would periodically wake, & seem temporarily distressed, however all it took for me to resettle you was a whispered ‘I’m here’, & a pat.  You would fall back asleep instantaneously, & I would literally feel your heart rate return to its normal rhythm, & then … you smiled, whilst you slept, & you’ve never looked so beautiful to me.

:: you’ve started using your manners without my needing to prompt you.  I can’t even recall the first time this happened, but one day you just asked for something, & there was a ‘please’ & a ‘thankyou Mama’ without my needing to say ‘and what do you say?’.  I’m not going to lie, I may have internally high-five’d.

:: when anyone sneezes in your presence, you’re the first to bless them.  I can barely get a sneeze out without your hasty ‘bess you Mama’.  Perhaps you’ll be a priest one day?

:: there are some mornings that you wake & instead of your usual x4 weet-bix straight up, you simply say, ‘akdas Mama’, & I just know now that this means I best put my runners on, because it’s the tractors you’re after, not the weet-bix.  We go for our 6am walk around the corner, & we watch the tractors build that aged care facility they’re working on, & you are just obsessed, & you just remain entirely still, & in complete awe.

:: another obsession? Cakes.  You’ve been obsessed with them ever since you had your very first cake on your second birthday.  I’m one step ahead though, & whipping up these, & these, & calling them ‘birthday cakes’.  You are treated to a ‘birthday cake’ every day.

Twenty-six months old is like no other month I’ve experienced with you.  You are keeping me on my toes, you are busy, & challenging, & curious, & dangerous, & testing every boundary, & determined, & looking like you might be wanting to drop your day naps soon {which is going to add a whole new level of difficult to this whole work-from-home caper}.  The days are filled with your very regular tantrums, & so I just try to remind myself that this is normal, & all a part of your personality developing, & your independence being gained.  And so I just do my best to remain consistent, & one step ahead, & continuously kind to myself by way of taking incredibly long drives with ridiculously loud music once you’ve gone to bed.

Because if I don’t, the sheer frustration of my day inevitably leads to an argument between your Daddy & I.  And that will always be my fault Maxie, & never yours.

Your Aunty Sarah always told me that she’ll love me until that sky falls on our heads, & it’s funny really, because my love for you is a very similar kind of love.

Endless.

{ 7 comments }