It Gets Easier? Said Who?

One of the things that I am told constantly during my first year of parenthood is that it will get easier.

What does this mean exactly? Will I get to go on that tropical holiday soon and drink margaritas in the sun?  Will Dragon start making me breakfast in bed? Will the gamut of kids stuff clogging our small flat evaporate to be replaced by tasteful decor?

Nada.

I think people aka other parents, tell you it gets easier because that is the thing to say. They are not going to say:

Actually it doesn't get easier. It just changes but there will always be something you are worried about.

You lug this around all day and tell me its easy

A friend once said to me that the early years of child rearing is physically exhausting. Later on when they are older, it becomes emotionally exhausting. She said that she found the latter much harder.

Hooray for her honesty.

Because I haven't found that it gets easier. It changes. Your expectations change. You get used to the physical drudgery and the toll it takes. You shift ever so gradually into parenthood. You begin to get a glimmer of the long haul.

One of the reasons I held off having a baby until my late 30's was that I didn't want to be constantly worried. Nor lose my solitude, both inside my head and within my life.

I'm so glad I waited for life is not easy with Dragon. It is constantly challenging.

But I'm up to the challenge.

Eight Months On...

Technically that's not true. Dragon is now closer to nine months than eight.

Nine months. That's how long she gestated for inside of me. And now she's been out in the world for about the same time.

Slow down kid. What's your hurry? I want to say to her. I know she'll be off like a bullet once she tastes a smidgen of independence.

Amongst my new mum friends, there is heightened anxiety regarding milestones and development. Are they  eating? Crawling? Sleeping? Walking? Later on I imagine it will be other things like whether they know their ABCs or if they can swim yet?

Part of my job as a parent is to facilitate her development in the best way I can. But personally, I think there is too much emphasis on development and getting further along.

She's a kid. Let her have a childhood.

A friend of mine asked me recently what dreams and hopes I have for Dragon. I said I had none. Apart from her happiness and health that is.

After all, she's not here to live out my dreams and hopes.

I'm here to help her live out hers.

I hope she has many.

Turn the Other Cheek

One of the common myths about becoming a parent is that you ditch all your non -parent friends. That you become so obsessed with all things baby that you:

a) become a total baby bore
b) become a bit "us" and "them" in regards to people who don't have kids
c) secretly feel that people who don't have kids haven't glimpsed the meaning of life, blah, blah, blah

There is truth to all of the above. You do become obsessed. You have to in order to embrace the tsunami of a life change that is happening to you. As part and parcel of this obsession, you do become a baby bore for awhile. Therefore you do separate parent friends and non parent friends as you know who you can talk to about baby for more than five minutes and who not to. And as for the meaning of life, well its true that kids completely change your life forever. But it's your life. Not your friends.

Since birth, I have made a conscious effort not to become a baby bore in the presence of my non parent friends. After all, they have rich and varied lives which interest me more than discussing how many nappies I changed that day. I remember how much I used to hate it when I was not a parent and had to endure conversations about kids and nothing else.

What I did not expect though was for some non parent friends to ditch me. Yes! They turned the other cheek.

Did you hear? She had a baby. Another one bites the dust

After I gave birth to Dragon, some friends just disappeared from my life. They made all the right noises about coming to see me and the baby. But they never came. She's seven months old now. They ain't coming.

I wonder what I could have done to warrant this. Is having a baby so bad? It's not infectious.

It makes me wonder what our friendship was really about.

Turns out it was about them.

Paradoxes of Parenting

I have ten minutes to write this. This is what my life has become. Short bursts of moments where I can fit in anything other than Looking After Baby. Therefore I write in short sentences.

I was thinking yesterday what a contrary experience parenting has been so far. Riddled with cliches yet everything a new discovery.  I share these in short sentences;

You sleep less than ever before in your life yet have to do the most exhausting, non-stop work ever

Some days you wish your child to disappear but are filled with the most bone-chilling dread at the thought of it

Your brain is not engaged in the way it was prior to birth yet you are at your most intuitive

They take up your whole life and in doing so, your life changes

You long for your baby to stop crying and sleep but creep in to watch them breathe when they do

You collapse exhausted at the end of the day, relieved that the baby is asleep and you can have some time to yourself. An hour later, you start looking at photos of him/her on your phone

You miss them even though they are with you

Your relationship with your partner becomes tested to its very core and in being so, becomes stronger

You long to leave, to escape the four walls of parenting but on the days you have a baby free pass, you think about baby and hurry home.

My ten minutes are up. I'm back on duty.

The Trip of a Lifetime

Our five week stay in Australia is drawing to a close. I mistakenly thought that time away with family and friends would mean I would feel more rested but alas, I feel more tired than when I first arrived. Oh well. This is the first big trip we've done with Dragon and I've learnt many things about travelling with a young baby. Some of these include:

Despite all the advice you get or tips you read up on, 50% of how your journey will go depends on your baby's personality and the unknown factors you encounter along the trip

For the first time, you will be grateful for other young babies seated near you on a flight. It takes the pressure off you and your crying child.

That said, do not worry if your baby cries. See it as a good thing. They are clearing their airways. That means their ears won't hurt as much.

Your baby's routine/schedule/whatever will completely change when you are away. Freak out if you want for a day or two and then let it go. For us this meant that Dragon stopped sleeping through. Yes this sucked. Oh well.

Travelling and being on holidays with a baby is extremely tiring. But it's worth it.

If you have a predisposition towards being OCD about hygiene or cleanliness re your baby, you might also have to let this go slightly, depending on where you are staying, what you are doing and who you are with. Let your baby get a bit dirty and germy. It won't kill them and they need it to build their immunity.

Learn to say No to friends and family who want to see your baby as many times as possible. This is difficult as you want this too. But in order not to get run down, you must protect your own health and energy, and subsequently, that of your babys'.

Holidays with babies are not holidays. They are simply a change of the environment under which you continue to care for your child.

Everyone should travel with their babies if they have the opportunity. It enhances the whole early baby experience. And it makes you feel like a person, not just a parent. And it is a great lesson in flexibility.

All the new mothers I have met in the last six months seem to have taken the above to heart. India, Hungary, France, Australia, Slovenia, Germany, Amsterdam are some of the places that Dragon's baby friends have visited. It's a great privilege and luxury to be able to show your kid a different part of the world before they have teeth or can walk.

Next up, my favourite city of all. New York, New York.

My Mum's a Tree Hugger

Now that I am a mum, I view my life very differently. For example, I asked myself the other day:

What have I worked for that I am proud of as an example to Dragon?


I worked for twenty years in a wide range of jobs before I became pregnant. But the only thing that came to mind was my time spent as an environmental campaigner with The Wilderness Society.

Why?

Our family is about to take a long flight back to Oz. I know that once we land, if we jumped into a car and drove about six hours southwards, we would arrive at a place where old growth forests containing trees hundreds and hundreds of years old still stand tall. Not only trees but the whole ecosystems within are preserved and have not been razed to the ground for woodchips.

These trees hold secrets of the universe we could not even begin to imagine

I know I can show Dragon this ancient, primeval environment and say,


I helped save this

And that makes me prouder than anything else so far.

I Love Sark

My friend Justin gave me my first Sark book in 1997 and I've been a fan ever since!

Generation Google

Recently Dragon entered yet another phase of development with new and unexplained behaviours which left me drained and puzzled. So I did what my generation does. I hit the internet.

The more I read, the more confused I got. It seems that Dragon could be overstimulated; eating too frequently;  not eating enough; teething; going through a growth spurt; suffering from reflux or wind; have trust issues as I let her cry herself to sleep; on the wrong schedule for her age; ready to wean; have allergies; needing more activity time; needing less activity time; missing her sleep window; a psychopath or all of the above.

Dear Google - Where Did These Children Come From?*

My friend Suki who is also a new mum told me that a midwife once said to her:


Your generation of  women want to schedule your babies like you schedule your lives.

And its true. We want to have it all figured out. But you can't do that with babies. So there is a big industry out there making money from this insecurity. The Schedulers and the Whisperers.

Don't get me wrong. I think its a good thing that there is information out there. For I don't live in a society where I am surrounded by a village of experienced women who will guide and show me how to mother on a day-to-day basis. I have to get an inkling somehow.

But the best way I've found is through word of mouth with other mothers. And your own instinct.

Something that comes free and doesn't take hours of Googling to find online.

*Photo courtesy of http://melissacooley.com/2011/06/what-work-life-balance/

What Price A Mothers Love?

I'll be frank. Prior to having a child, I could never understand the proliferation of toys that would litter the home of every parent I knew. Their homes seem overrun by an army of stuffed animals and brightly coloured plastic things that hurt your bare feet when you stepped on them.

At some point in my pregnancy, I said to the Husband:

I am not going to buy our baby lots of toys. She doesn't need them. It's a total con.

Although this was my stance, it was not that of my friends and family. Before she was even born, Dragon had toys and other gifts generously lavished upon her; so much so that it scared me. I felt like I was drowning in baby stuff.

As it turned out, I was right. When Dragon was born she did not need the mountain of toys that waited for her or the four drawers of clothes accumulated. All she needed was milk, sleep, a wash every now and again and lots of love and attention.

Easy right?

Not so. For when Dragon was born, so was a mother. I surveyed all the toys we had been given by our generous friends and decided that I wanted MORE.

My name is Lavendar and I am a Fisher Price addict.

What happened?

On the advice of my friend Yvette and my physio (long story), I purchased Dragon the Fisher Price Rainforest musical mobile. So she could have something to look at when her nappy was being changed instead of a white ceiling.

This was the beginning of the end

She absolutely loved it, laughing and kicking her legs whenever she saw it. It's saved my sanity many times over and should be displayed in a museum somewhere.

But it was a slippery slope.

A few weeks after the introduction of this marvellous mobile in our lives, we visited a friend who had the Fisher Price Rainforest musical playmat. The minute Dragon lay down on it, she started laughing, kicking her legs, squealing.

A pattern was emerging.

We must get it for her,  my (own) mother said. See how happy it makes her.

I looked at my baby who was so happy on the playmat. I looked at her cheerful gurgling face and chubby legs kicking away as the happy smiling stuffed animals and flashing lights did their dance of addiction.

I knew then that I would fill my house with toys just to see her happy. I would bankrupt myself and the Husband in order to scratch this itch.

The mat was delivered two days later. And many other things since then.

What price a mothers love?

Ask Fisher Price.

Motherhood: It's Not all Apples.

When I was six months pregnant, I registered myself for an NCT Early Days postnatal course. Mistakenly thinking it was a course about childcare, I who had only changed a nappy once in my life pre Dragon, thought I would need all the help I could get.

Turns out I should've read the fine print. Early Days is actually a course for the mother. I quote my course leader:

Post birth, all the attention is on the baby. How is the baby? What should I do with the baby? Well what about the mother? She's going through a lot too. But no-one really asks about her. This course is for the mother. A place where she can discuss and examine how motherhood is impacting upon her.  After all, when a baby is born, so is a mother.

Great!  I thought. I'm in the right place.

I looked at all the faces around me and wondered what their stories were.

It turns out that most of their stories were the same. Shiny, happy love stories. Blissed up with baby stories. My life is complete stories.

It really pissed me off.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: The Veneer of Motherhood.

Is this what a good mother does? Dress identically to her children? Freaky.

Of course we all love our babies. Otherwise we would have killed them all by now for the torture of those early days/weeks/months. Let me tell you, the ONLY thing that keeps a baby alive when it allows you no sleep,  tears the skin off your nipple with her mouth, screams for hours at a time, ad infinitium (insert your trauma here), the only thing that keeps that baby alive is LOVE.

So it's a given that we love our babies.Would dive into a burning lake filled with vomit for them. Would throw ourselves in front of a stampede of mating brumbies for them (insert corny cliche here) 

But ladies, until that time comes when we must face the brumbies, let's do ourselves a favour and tell it like it is. I don't care how you put it. Changing twenty nappies a day is not blissful. Say it aloud. No-one is going to cart you off to the looney bin. Social services isn't going to come knocking. You are not a bad mother.

You are normal.

Going through a very normal, albeit, brutal rite-of-passage towards becoming a parent. The very core of your identity is shape shifting and that's gotta hurt at times.


But don't tell me its all fairy floss and rainbows. Just tell the truth.

A Little Tenderness For Heaven's Sake

is the name of the show I went to see at Sadlers Wells last Friday night. Actually the name was Un Peu de Tendresse Bordel de Merde! by Canadian choreographer Dave St Pierre.

I went to the show by default. A friend who works at Sadlers had free tickets and asked if I was interested. To be honest, I didn't even look to see what the show was. I just said Yes for it meant a night out without baby. A night out BY MYSELF. For the first time in nine weeks.

As I travelled on the tube to Sadler's, I looked around the carriage at the diverse, eclectic population that dwells in London and felt extremely happy. Each person in the carriage seemed so interesting.  For the first time since birth, I felt in sync with the city again.

When I got to Sadler's, I asked my friend, What show are we seeing?


Don't you know? 
No, I just wanted to get out
So if I'd asked you to come out and play chess, you would've come?
For sure. 

As it turned out, the show was the one that's been causing all kinds of controversy in the arts/dance world of late with its nakedness and dangly bits on display for all to see.  For me, it wasn't this that was shocking, although having naked men in blonde wigs clamber onto the audience and stick their penises in unexpected places was surprising; it was some of the other crudity within the show. I didn't think it needed to be so blatantly crude.  Pina Bausch, who St Pierre is obviously influenced heavily by, dealt with similar themes in a far more majestic yet intimate manner without resorting to in your face crudeness. I think the key difference was that Pina drew the audience in and made them feel connected to her pieces. St Pierre has more of a shove-it-in-your face-and-deal-with-it-attitude within this work.

They reminded me of Blonde Smurfs for some reason

That said, during the 145 min show there were moments of bright humour, wit and tenderness too. It was an interesting first night out post birth but for me the tube ride in had been far more engaging and peformative. Just goes to show that real life trumps art almost every time. 

Breast is Best? Give it a Rest.

Like any other human being, I have faced many challenges in my life. Death of loved ones, financial concerns, health glitches and the end of favourite television sitcoms. When I became pregnant, I thought giving birth would be one of these challenges.

How wrong was I.

Not that birth was a walk in the park. It hurt like hell. I once read that it felt like being set on fire, torn in half, then being cut up in bits and chucked into a pool of piranhas. I've not had any first hand experience of the above but it sounds fairly accurate.

No, my Waterloo moment came when I started to breastfeed. Before stitching my nether regions, the midwife clamped Dragon onto my nipple whereupon she unleashed her Hooverish industrial strength suck. Twenty minutes later, I asked:

Erm, is it supposed to hurt?

Yes at first. But it will get better in a few minutes , was the reply. 

One week later, I was still waiting for better to happen. I'd not slept since labour, cried constantly and dreaded feeding Dragon for it had come to equal agony for me. As a result I did not enjoy being with Dragon in that week as I 'd come to associate her with pain and trauma. It was horrible.

What's wrong with me?  I worried constantly. Why don't I feel good about my baby?  Why isn't it working? Is it supposed to hurt this much? Am I going to get post natal depression at this rate?

The parade of midwives that visited me post-natally all had different faces but the same message:

Persevere. Breast is best.

A few days later I hit the wall. It was either me or the baby. Husband and I took matters into our own hands and hired a lactation consultant. It was friggin expensive but when I called her, she was the first health professional who listened to me. Actually no. She was the first one who actually heard what I was saying.


I can hear you are desperate, she said over the phone, I'll come as soon as I can. 


That was the beginning of my climb out of breastfeeding hell although it has not been an easy time. I've had laser treatment on my nipples. Mastitis visited me three times. Dragon was diagnosed with posterior tongue tie. I got thrush in the nipple and Dragon got it on her tongue which we both still have. I developed a bacterial infection in my milk ducts.

One of the stated benefits of breastfeeding is that it is inexpensive but for me to try and get a hang of it has cost a fortune. Probably the cost of formula for a year. Just the lactation consultant alone was £70 an hour. But I had no choice as there was nothing else available to me on the NHS.

The roll call of medication I've taken because of breastfeeding complications has included antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, anti-fungal oral and topical treatment and paracetamol. A far cry from my pregnancy where nary a panadol crossed my lips for the entire nine months. The irony of this doesn't seem to filter down to the Breast is Best brigade who say:

The medication doesn't hurt the baby or the breastmilk.

But what about the mother? What about the effect of all these pills on her?

What about the I'm in Pain, Get this Baby Off Me position?

Because of my experience, I have learned more about breastfeeding than I ever desired to. I have spoken to and been seen by lactation consultants, breastfeeding counsellers, breastfeeding coordinators, breastfeeding pharmacists, personnel from the Breastfeeding Network and trained volunteers from the La Leche and NCT breastfeeding helplines.  So many people have looked at my boobs, nipples and latch that I am now more comfortable half naked with strangers than not.  From all these conversations and sessions I have drawn my own conclusions.

And that is the Breast is not always Best. And by that I mean breastfeeding. I do not mean breast milk which can have excellent benefits for the little one. But even this is contextual. After all, if the mum is taking in toxic substances or boozing it up or whatever, that isn't best at all.

The bond of intimacy created by breastfeeding between mum and bub is also only best if it is a positive experience for all. When I dreaded the sight of my daughter in the early days of breastfeeding, there was no constructive bonding going on.

Further to this, when Dragon started on the bottle and was fed by my Husband and my Mum, it created a bond between her and them that was special from an early age. After getting over my own ego of wanting to be The One and Only in my daughter's eyes, I fully appreciated how valuable it was that she be cared for by and trusting of others.  Like the saying goes, it takes a village....


The pressure on new mothers to breastfeed in the UK is immense. Whether it be direct pressure from midwives or lactation consultants who ignore the agony etched upon a new mother's face and only have one answer to all her entreaties (Breast is Best, Breast is Best)  or subliminal pressure such as being told things like, Imagine the discomfort of a cold, plastic teat in your baby's mouth as opposed to a nice , warm breast; it all serves to instill guilt in a new mother if she is not breastfeeding. It all serves to fuck her up!

As if she didn't have enough to deal with already.One lactation consultant suggested I find a pharmacist who would be willing to make up an ointment for me that duplicated a type sold in America but was not legal here to treat my nipple thrush as I'd had it for over a month.

Lady, I wanted to say, I have a newborn kid. I don't even finish a cup of coffee in the morning. I don't have time to find someone who will help me break the law.


The bulldozer approach is never going to win which is why the UK has such low breastfeeding statistics. There is insufficient support for women who run into problems in the first few weeks and so they give up. Or get trapped into a vicious cycle of complications and give up. It's all very well for the government to push breastfeeding as a message.  But with low resources invested in helping women establish it as a practice, the stats are going to stay low as there is nowhere to turn to when you run into trouble.  With Breast is Best continually shoved in their faces, new mothers will continue to suffer and feel guilty if they are unable to breastfeed.

It all makes me very angry and it's not just the post pregnancy hormones. The stress and pressure of breastfeeding robbed me of those early weeks with Dragon. I'll never get those first moments back. Had I known then what I know now, I would not have let breastfeeding take over the way it did post birth.

As for Dragon and I, we've got it all going on. Breast, bottle, boobmilk and formula. We're still finding our way but it WILL be our way and that's what's best for us.

New Parents Don't...

Just some observations of mine from the first few weeks of parenthood.

New parents dont't have mealtimes. They just shove in whatever they can scavenge as quickly as possible.

New parents don't have conversations with one another. They use walkie talkie lingo. Is she fed? Yes. Changed? Yes. Sleeping? Yes. Good.

New parents don't operate on clock time but feed and sleep time.

New parents are constantly lurching between terror and love.

New parents don't read more than three sentences at a time. Apart from articles found through Google about what to do if your baby is ____ (fill in the blank)

New parents don't get to finish cups of coffee or tea.

New parents don't fit their lives around anyone else apart from their baby. For now.

New parents don't care if you are put out by the new status quo. If you are a real friend, suck it up.

New parents don't care that much about themselves for now. As long as the baby is alright.

New parents don't do much for the first few hours but stare. At their baby.

New parents don't realise the scope of their own parents until it's their turn.

New parents don't want to hear negative things

New parents don't wear the emotional armour they usually have.

New parents don't know what the hell they are doing.

New parents don't want to ever go back to a life without their baby.

Love is a Battlefield

Pat Benatar was right. Love really is a battlefield. It's a war zone. It's the night of the living dead.

Dragon entered my life one month ago. She came promptly on her due date in a birth so glorious and straightforward that it seemed too good to be true. Yes it was painful. Yes it was hard. But as I twisted my sweaty head towards the open hospital window and watched dawn break as I pushed my baby into our world, I was conscious of how wonderful all of it was. Post birth, I was on a high.  I vaguely clocked that the little blinking creature on my chest was my responsibility. I was too busy cracking jokes with the midwife and doula. My husband was slumped in an ashen, grey heap somewhere in the corner.

They're tiny but they pack a punch

 I lost that high somewhere in the post natal ward where they deposited me and Dragon afterwards and left us alone. I realised that the buck stopped with me. I was her lifeline. It was utterly terrifying. Like many new, first time parents I didn't sleep a wink that night (or any thereafter), watching her breathe. I got on my Blackberry and unleashed my terror upon all my friends who handled this first time mum with care and understanding. That night was also when the tears set in. 

The tears continued for many days and nights as the spectre of breastfeeding reared its ugly head. All I can say about that right now is that if I had the guts to chop my breasts off, I would. Breastfeeding rendered me into a state of despair so deep I feared for my mental health. In the space of three weeks, I'd experienced thrush, mastitis, having Dragon's tongue tie snipped, severely damaged nipples and pain so bad that I would go through labour again rather than endure it.

Subsequently I have learnt a lot about breastfeeding the hard way. Not only about the physiology of it but the politics, the socio-cultural context and the pros and cons of how it is promoted to new mums in the UK.  More of that another time.

They say that nothing can prepare you for it and that's true. I could not have predicted the brutality of new parenthood, which in my case was severely exacerbated by breastfeeding problems.  But I'm lucky for Dragon was born a healthy, happy baby who I hope to keep that way for as long as I can.

For nothing can prepare you for the intensity of the love you have for your baby either. The love which keeps you afloat amongst the gruelling drudgery of looking after a newborn on no sleep.

Love is a battlefield but the fight is wholly, with yourself.

Full as a Goog

After seeing a recent pregnant photo of yours truly, a friend of mine declared that I was:

As Full as a Goog.

Slightly taken aback I asked her what language she was speaking.

Australian as it turns out:

Phrase: full as a goog - (Australian, simile, colloquial): having eaten too much, or being drunk


Given that was several weeks ago, I wonder what she would make of me now?  Coming up to forty weeks pregnant I have surely transcended full googness and now reside in the State of Bureaugrade.

As in Violet Bureaugarde.


You know - the one in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory who blew up into a big, purple blimp!

Spot the Pregnant Lady, I mean Violet.

In the likely event that I go past my due date, I wonder what I will resemble past forty weeks?

Nah. Too happy. I will not be skipping anywhere at forty one weeks.

Yep. That's more like it.

March for the Alternative

I want to attend this march in central London on the weekend. I'm not happy about the slash and burn cuts being imposed by the government. Health, education, child welfare, heck- any welfare, human rights, immigration and diversity, arts and culture, literacy, legal and housing aid are all under threat.  And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

However there's a few logistical problems in my way. My husband. And the fact that I'm nine months pregnant.

Power to the Bumps!

My husband has threatened to get a court order to sanction me if I go to the march. He said he'll have me declared Not in Fit Mind under the Mental Health Act.

Do you not care about the kind of society we are bringing our kid into? I asked

I care more about you not being kettled in by the police or thrashed by a baton. I want the kid to make it here in one piece was the terse reply.

Fair enough.

So I'll watch it on TV instead although the media will no doubt focus on the idiot minority who turn a peacfeul protest into a violent farce. They won't focus on the 20,000 other people who have turned out to express their discontent.

Years ago when I was active in the environment movement, an oft quoted phrase in much of the campaign literature was that of anthropologist, Margaret Mead who said;

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.

She also said


Never depend upon institutions or government to solve any problem. All social movements are founded by, guided by, motivated and seen through by the passion of individuals.

Governments will come and go but Mead's words will stand the test of time.

Enter the Dragon

Where oh where did those nine months go?

Enjoy the time chirruped all my (wise) mum friends, It won't come again.

And as I find myself perched on the precipice of labour, I couldn't agree with them more.

Why is it that we pregnant-for-the-first-time-women spend nine months fretting and worrying and busying ourselves with a million and one inconsequentials only to find that as we stare into the pit face of the unknown (a.k.a giving birth at any point now), we are none the wiser and wide-eyed as ever. The armour of information and stuff that you've accumulated over the past nine months is precisely that. Armour. It may help you but it won't do the work for you.

I have no control of what is about to happen. A thought that is petrifying and thrilling at the same time.

Looking back, I can now say that I have enjoyed my pregnancy. Despite the discomfort of symptoms, the hormonal madness and sometimes difficult life changes, I have enjoyed observing what's been happening to me; both physically and emotionally. 

I appreciate though that it is only the very beginning of something. Something enormous and fantastical. And by that I don't mean Dragon's head.

What I mean, is Dragon's heart.

I'm soon to meet my baby.

Oh boy.

Tell it Like It Is

A friend posted this recently on Facebook. Too good not to share:

Good 'ol HR. Why call an apple and apple when you can call it a spade?

The Big C

Ever since Spencer Tracy uttered the immortal lines:

Not that I intend to die. But when I do, I don't want to go to heaven. I want to go to Claridges

it has been on my list of places to visit. Now that I have stayed there I too want to join Tracy in the afterlife; living it up in an art deco suite. Clinking whiskey tumblers and cuttin' the rug.

One of the finest actors of his generation, Tracy was also an alcoholic insomniac but I digress.

 

My suite or yours?

The heritage of Claridges is vast. Royalty, heads of state, movie stars have all graced its interiors since 1812 and left with their reputations intact for Claridges is discrete. With a capital D.

There was nothing discrete however about my excitement when we checked in and found out that we had been upgraded to a suite. A suite!

We noted that it's your first visit, they said to me, and that you are pregnant. We want you to enjoy yourself.

I think that's when I fell in love with Claridges.

The Linley suite which was ours for one glorious evening was Art Deco deluxe. There was no chintz to be seen anywhere.

After I'd done a few laps of the suite, touching things and concluding that the entire suite was larger than our apartment, there was a knock at the door. It was our butler. The butler that came with the suite. She had brought me a pregnancy pillow. Without being asked.

Rubbing my belly, I whispered to Dragon:

If you want to come early, now is a really, really good time to arrive. 

After our (all too short) stay, I realised what I loved most about Claridges was its understatement. It's not flash, modern or overly grand. It has no razzamatazz.

But what it does have is charm, elegance and the best damn customer service I have ever experienced at a hotel ever.

Which is why I wrote my first ever TripAdvisor review which tells a little bit more about our visit.

Forget dying. I'm going back way before then!

Movie-a-Go-Go!

Somewhere along the line in my pregnancy I read that you should go and see as many movies as possible before the baby comes. That those quiet soujourns in a darkened cinema would become a distant memory for some years to come.

Being a movie junkie at heart, I didn't need any further convincing and have spent many a blissful afternoon since in celluloid escapism.

Some of the flicks that I have seen include Black Swan, The Social Network, The Kings Speech, Morning Glory, Blue Valentine, Little Fockers and Another Year. Of the lot, The Social Network won it hands down for me. I love geeks. I always thought they would inherit the earth.

Maybe all this movie watching will make me one of these?

Before Dragon arrives, I'd also like to squeeze in Biutiful, Barney's Version, How Do You Know, Somewhere, True Grit, Rabbit Hole and Fair Game.

I'm topping up for the year to come. Can you blame me?

Childcare :The Buck Starts Here

About two months ago over dinner some friends suggested that we start thinking about childcare options for our unborn, unnamed baby. 

Freaked out on the way home, I said to the Husband:

But s/he's not even born yet!

He just shook his head and replied:

Homeschooling.

Dragon still isn't born but over the past few weeks I've started checking out some of the local nurseries in my area.  Up against the coalface of future parenting reality, I either have to ditch my university course which I'm loathe to do or locate some childcare options quicksmart for when I return to study. Quick being the operative word as places go fast. Even for an unborn child.

Are they sitting quietly because they've been drugged?

 The thing is that everytime I've been to see one of these nurseries, something in me breaks a little. It doesn't matter how nice the staff seem nor how happy the kids look. Whether the meals are organic or if the fees are expensive rather than exorbitant. I feel a little sad each time.

Will I be able to leave my child at one of these places? Maybe when the time comes I'll welcome the break?

I don't know.

It's a small taste of the heartbreak a parent goes through. And I don't even have my stripes yet.

Mama Ain't Raisin' No Fool!

I saw this today. It made me laugh:

The Pain of Pregnancy Brain

It's real.

The curse of pregnancy brain.

What was I saying?

What was I thinking?

Huh?

The worse was the day when someone asked me how to spell my husband's surname and I didn't know.

I wonder if it is not so much a temporary absent-mindedness but rather a short circuiting due to information overload. Once you become pregnant, there is so much additional information to take in.  

I found this pregnancy survey on another blog and decided to replicate it here.

How did you find out you were pregnant?  By taking five cheap home pregnancy tests that I had bought on the internet
What kind of Pregnancy test did you take?  Don't know. It was only a fiver for fifty on the internet.
What were your 1st symptoms?  Sore boobs. 
Who did you tell first?  My husband. Then my masseuse.
Who was with you when you found out? Le Husband.
My 1st reaction:  Bemusement. 
Was your baby planned?  Yep
When was the baby conceived? I can't say.
How far were you when you found out?  Five weeks
How did your parents react?  Happily

My baby
Due Date:  March 21, 2011
Do you know the sex?  Yes
Any names: Yes
Any Ultrasounds?  Four so far, one more to go.
Have you heard the heart beat?  Yes and it's a great sound
Who do you think it will look like?  Judging by the ultrasounds, it has its father's massive head (OW!)
Will the baby have siblings? Your guess is as good as mine
Have you felt the baby move?  Absolutely

Miscellaneous
Did you have morning sickness? Only all day nausea
Did you have any cravings?  Orange juice, apple juice, bland carbs and cold cooked ham.
Did you have any mood swings? Is that a trick question
Are you a high risk pregnancy?  Nope.
Any complications?  Nope.
Formula or Breastfeeding? Whatever works
Have you bought anything for the baby yet? Yes
When did you start to show? About 5 months
How long could you wear your regular clothes? Still can although jeans need a belly belt
Will you keep the baby’s clothes? Only a few special pieces
Home or Hospital?  Hospital. 
Natural or Medicated birth? Whatever works
Who will be in the delivery room with you?  My partner in crime
Do you think you will need a C-section? Who knows
Will you let anyone video tape the birth?  No way Jose
Are you excited? Yes 
Who will help you with the baby after the birth?  My husband and our army of invisible staff. And then my mum.
What is your favorite thing about being pregnant?  The bump, the happy hormones, the loving support from friends and family and the baby grooving away in my belly
What is the worst thing about being pregnant? Everything else
What’s one thing you miss doing since being pregnant?  Running.
Any days you wish you were not pregnant?  Yes
Are you ready for a baby?  Yes
Have you had your baby shower yet?  Not yet
Do you like kids?  Depends on the kid.  
How far along are you now?  28 weeks and counting…

You Lookin' At Me?

So I was at the gym last night and again, I was the only pregnant person there. It's getting pretty dull being in the sweating minority. The Husband reckons he has seen other pregnant woman work out there but they have all eluded me during the past eight months. I'm not suprised I don't see any of them because my gym is not pregnancy friendly. It is anti pregnancy. For the record, I am a member of Nuffield Health.

Where are you all?

It's getting dull being the lone child incubator huffing and puffing amongst the sleek and lycra clad.  People stare. They pretend not to stare but they do. I see their staring reflections in the mirror. I can see what they are thinking:

What's she doing here?
Is that safe?
Shouldn't she be resting?
That's so vain to be worried about your weight when you're pregnant.
Wow! A pregnant person! At the gym!
How far along is she?
Will I be able to do that when I'm pregnant?

And so on.

I do wish there were more pregnant women working out with me. Mainly because being the object of curiosity makes me belligerent. I come over all Travis Bickle-like:

You lookin' at me? You lookin' at me?! Then who the hell else are you lookin' at? I'm the only one here!

I'm thinking of getting a t-shirt printed up to wear when I next workout.

If you keep staring long enough my waters will break


or


It's not what you think. I was just born this way

Music Soothes the Savage Beast

For my uni lectures this week I had to read several interviews about the work of Raimund Hoghe. Hoghe is not your standard dancer. He has severe curvature of the spine, a.k.a - a hunchback. In one interview he was asked if he follows a physical training regimen in order to be able to perform. He replied:

No. The music gives me the power. With music I can do things I can’t do by myself

Raimund Hoghe at work

This stuck in my mind. It's true. Music does have that power.

Which is why I have started to ponder my music playlist for labour. Whilst I am in the throes of giving birth, I need music that will carry me through it.

Of course I may not want music when the time comes but prefer the sound of my own screams ricocheting off the hospital walls. Nonetheless, I best be prepared.

The only thing I have to compare birthing to is training for a marathon. When I trained for the marathon, I needed a mantra, music and motivation. The music that got me through and gave me that extra push was metal. The wailing of the lead guitar plus the grunt factor of the bass overlaid with the guttural screams of the singer and manic drum bashing blend nicely to aurally simulate the agony and ecstacy of running a marathon.

And perhaps birth too? Whaddya think?

Will our kid come out looking like this?

So that's whats on my playlist so far. Metallica, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden and some home grown Perth talent, Karnivool.  With a bit of Apocalyptica for the quieter moments.

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother

There is a new book out about parenting called Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother which has been causing all sorts of controversy. The book is by Yale law professor, Amy Chua and is a memoir of the Chinese parenting methods she used to raise her two daughters.

The book caught my eye as I'm a by product of two Chinese parents. Fortunately for me, they did not go to the extremes of Ms Chua although there is much I can relate to in her methods from my own  upbringing. Motivation through criticism. An expectation of strength rather than fragility. Strict, tough love.

Although I have not read the memoir, it seems that it is being hyped up and sensationalised in order for it to sell. Although Chua stands by her outlook, the book goes on reveal how her younger daughter's eventual  rebellion against Chua's techniques led to an re-evaluation of her parenting style. 

I read the below excerpt from the Guardian aloud to the Husband:

"Amy Chua was in a restaurant, celebrating her birthday with  her husband and daughters, Sophia, seven and Lulu, four.  "Lulu handed me her surprise which turned out to be a card," writes Chua. "More accurately it was a piece of paper folded crookedly in half, with a big happy face on the front. Inside, 'Happy Birthday Mummy! Love, Lulu was scrawled in crayon.  I gave this card back to Lulu. "I don't want this," I said. 'I want a better one - one that you'be put some thought and effort into. I have a special box where I keep all my cards from you and Sophia, and this one can't go in there.' 
What kind of mother throws her four year old daughter's home made birthday cards back at them? A "Chinese" one, that's who, says Chua.

The Husband looked aghast whilst I laughed merrily.

There is no way you are going to do that to our child, he huffed.

Poor little half Chinese baby. Of course I wouldn't do that to you.

Well maybe only the Chinese half.