So I'm pretty sure I've mentioned briefly before that I am a single mother. (or solo if you prefer that term, or independent, whatever floats your boat).
I may be on my own, but I'm not doing this all on my own. My sons father (though a total stranger with whom fate combined me to make a baby) is involved in my sons life. That was my own doing, though some days I do get the 'oh wouldn't it be nice to own a time machine' feeling.
When I first told him I was pregnant he ran and hid. Then my conscience and my morals lead me to find him and his family, because even if he wasn't interested, his family had a RIGHT to know. I couldn't deny them of that. It would have been against my beliefs.
The road since then until now has been hard and complicated. It has been challenging, frustrating, stressful as well.
I won't go into ALL the details because I'd be here for a million years typing out each and every thing that has happened. Besides that, I have an ongoing online diary elsewhere for that purpose.
I am grateful that his father actually WANTS to be part of his life. There are many out there who don't give a damn about their own children. I am grateful that he CARES about his child and appears to love him.
I struggle with just 2 things on a regular basis.
1) shared care. actually having to SHARE my beautiful baby. I don't want to sound selfish and self centred or anything, but I hate the idea that I created this amazing child, and that I don't get to see and raise him for 100% of his life because I have to share him. That makes him sound like a worthless possession. I know it was ME who went and chased after his father to make him accountable, and convince him to get involved in his childs life. I don't regret that, because they already have a beautiful bond. It is just hard and so challenging on a daily basis.
Outside pressure from family and friends makes it harder to accept. I like to think I'm doing 'whats best' for my child (as the law would view it) and not one person I know is supportive of my decisions. They all honestly think I'm a nut job. 'if it were me I'd never put him on the birth certificate' 'i would never let him have his baby unsupervised' 'you are the mother, its up to you' blah blah blah. I'm sick of hearing it.
that brings me to my second struggle point.
2) WHAT THE HELL IS THE RIGHT THING? or the 'best interests' of the child..???
Each and every day I make decisions and choices as a parent. And most often they are unsupported by people around me. But my son is happy, his father is happy, they are getting to know each other well. But is it too much? Is it going to stuff up my childs emotional well being getting shunted between homes? Would I ruin their chance at a father-son bond if I denied him the access?
These questions plague my thoughts. I hate not knowing what is the right thing to do. I've followed my instincts all along. That is the best guide I can have.
My instincts have lead me to continue to have him involved and share care with him, although we have had our fair share of trials and tribulations. Like Wednesday, when he brought our son home 40 minutes late. I was absolutely dying inside. I was almost sick from stress. I had called my lawyer and was a few minutes away from phoning the police, if he had not turned up when he did.
He didn't care either. He 'didn't realize' he was late or some rubbish like that.
Meanwhile I was worried was he actually coming back, had they been in an accident along the way. Scariest half hour of my life!!!
My instincts have lead me to ignore him temporarily. Until we have formal plans/orders in place to prevent things like this happening again.
But I still feel uneasy about ignoring him. And once agani there is that question..
Is it RIGHT for our son?
Saturday, 23 July 2011
If I knew then what I knew now..
Reading an interesting debate about birthing experiences tonight since I got home. There is a lot of talk about what expectant mothers do or don't want to hear.
I personally think birthing is a very personal experience. It is very individual. We own it. However in this day and age that ownership can be lost, or taken away, scared out of us, or even not given to us at all.
I am writing this with tired eyes after happily night parenting my son half of last night, then travelling an hour each way for a day of placement, so forgive any typos.
My son is 9 months old tomorrow. 9 whole months. He has been outside for around two weeks less than the time he was snuggled up in the womb.
He could very well have been in there longer. Had I known what I know now.
Being a nurse I know a lot of the anatomy and physiology of things and understand a lot about the medical side of birth and labour. My birth experience was my own, I am proud of it, I am not ashamed of it but I probably would have done things differently; had I known what I know now.
I had heard lots of stories when I was pregnant from those who had been there before. I embraced them. I welcomed them. I was happy to hear of the ones who did it well, and know that it could be done. And I was also happy to take on board when things didn't go so well.
I had gone into my labour and birth EXPECTING great things. I was prepared. I was slightly nervous but I wasn't fearful. My body was made to do this, I should know what to do. It is all natural and loads of women have done it for millions of years before me.
I was sure that I was going to ace it. I was having a hospital birth because he was my first child and I wasn't comfortable (or even sure I was able to have the option) doing it at home, and we don't have a birthing centre.
I was going to do it without any medical intervention and without drugs. If only I knew what I knew now.
I was due Oct 15th, on the friday. I was still pregnant the following Tuesday when I saw the OB. at that point I was given my first internal and I was at 1.5-2cm dilated. She performed a stretch and sweep. I thought it was uncomfortable, but it didn't hurt. If that was what labour pains felt like I was confident.
My plug started to move on the wednesday after copious amounts of walking and exercise. I wanted this baby to hurry up and get out. I was sick of being pregnant. I hadn't researched much about going over term. But I believed the things I had heard and therefore didn't want to go so far over that it was putting my baby at risk. (If only I knew what I know now).
Thursday I did a few minutes on the cross trainer and I was able to have a rest. I woke with my first real contractions. They were irregular but they were real. and they continued all day and all night. I hardly slept a wink. In the morning a shower held them at bay for a short time and I got an hour or two of sleep.
We were supposed to be going to the hospital on the Friday anyway for a post due date check up. A monitoring session or something. We packed up the stuff and headed over early. I spent several hours on the CTG.
Contractions were happening but still not really regular.
Friday evening we went to a pub for tea and they were more regular and stronger by then. It made eating a very uncomfortable experience. But I enjoyed fish and chips and salad. My last proper meal as a before birth person.
I ended up at the hospital by 10pm Friday night. I wanted to know what was happening. On reflection I wish I had taken some pain relief and tried to get some sleep. It may well have had a totally different outcome. Another internal and I was 3cm.
A few more hours of monitoring and I wasn't fitting their 'criteria' at the hospital. So they sent me home around 3am (to the motel we booked for the night). I was given temazepam and some panadeine. And they wanted me to sleep. I was already too uncomfortable to sleep. I was excited more than anything. But the contractions were hurting more and more. And staying 3-5 minutes apart.
I think I slept for about half an hour. That was about 2.5 hours sleep in two nights. I paced around as long as I physically could being about triple my normal size with fluid by now. It was uncomfortable to walk. I tried different positions, standing, sitting, laying, chairs, bed, floor, whatever. Nothing worked for very long.
Except the showers. The showers were amazing. I had about 20 of them. A bonus of the motel meant using as much hot water as I liked, and no extra charge for it :)
I lasted until 8am Saturday (8 days post partum) and returned to the hospital, knowing that I wouldn't come home without my new baby. By 10am I was still 3cm dilated. My midwife offered to break my waters and I agreed.
By this stage I was exhausted. I wanted it over and done with. I could not move like I wanted to due to excessive fluid.
Nothing much happened so at around 1pm they started the artificial drip. Wow. What a crazy idea that was!
I couldn't use the showers as it was too hard with the drip and the monitors. My mum and sister were my support people, whilst they were great being there, they weren't as active as say a supportive partner would be. I really wish I'd had that assistance (back massages etc).
I turned to pain relief because I was so utterly tired I didn't think I'd be able to physically push the baby out. I had a shot of pethidine to help me get a rest and gain some strength for later. It worked well for a little while.
Then it started wearing off, the intensity was getting pretty full on because of the drip. I was offered gas and I tried it but didn't like it. So that was the end of that.
I wanted an epidural. I was sick of the pain. I thought I could handle it. How wrong I was. If only I knew what I'd learn later.
I didn't get the epi because I had a fever (possibly reaction to the pethidine). In that moment I was shattered. However shortly after I got a fentanyl drip up for pain relief instead, I felt an incredible urge to push.
THANK HEAVENS I didn't have an epi, how ever would I have known? It was so amazing that I just knew. And the amount of adrenaline that welled up blew my mind. The contractions were no longer painful, they were intense, but they were absolutely empowering and amazing. Each contraction, each little push I was closer to meeting my son.
I was about to experience the most amazing thing in my life to date. I was so incredibly excited.
After 2 sleepless days. After 50 hours of contractions. After feeling like I could not possibly move a muscle if my life depended on it, I had the biggest surge of energy. And I pushed out my son in just 27 minutes.
Less than half an hour and he was there for me to meet. It was unbelievable.
This perfect tiny human that I created and grew inside me. All the pain was worth it.
So I'd like to say to any expecting mums, it does hurt, it doesn't tickle. The pain is what you make of it. Some people (quite a lot) say that it can be experienced as simply a sensation, a necessary part of birth, they don't even call it pain (but that doesn't mean it isn't there -and you would be naive to think it is a total breeze. labour and birth is hard work. some people just handle it so much better.).
And what do I know now?
*Firstly that babies will come when they are ready.
*That babies have come at 42 or 43 weeks without dying, or any other significant problems.
*That I could have done without so many internals.
*That the hospital follows a strict timeline and if you are at a certain point they try and push for more intervention. I was VERY close to an emergency c section, however I didn't quite fit the criteria. thank goodness!
*That my body knows what to do and I should have trusted it even more than I did.
*That if I wasn't induced I probably could have gone without the pethidine and fentanyl.
*That unnecessary intervention (induction) lead to my choices to take pain relief due to the pain being artificially induced and not trusting my body to do things in its own time.
*That the stretch and sweep was pointless in my case because I dilated very slowly over a few days anyway.
*That outside pressures and the fact that it is just so 'normalized' in our society to have epidurals, induction or drugs readily available can totally sway a persons birth experience.
*That I am certainly capable of birthing naturally, through pain (because I did in the end push him out based on instinct, and nature and sensation and an innate knowledge by my body to know what to do).
*That I am probably capable of birthing drug free if I ever have more children, and I hope I get the chance to try.
*That I am thankful I knew all the possibilites when learning about birth whilst pregnant, but that I could have done even more research and been even better prepared (though I think most of the time the first time around you can't possibly know exactly what to expect and many people would feel similarly that they did things slightly different with their first birth to how they'd want following experiences to turn out (you can only truly learn from it if you've done it)
Having said that I don't regret taking the pain relief I chose at the time. It was right for me there in that moment. I don't regret the induction or the stretch and sweep. I just learned from them and will follow a different plan if there is ever a next time for me :)
I personally think birthing is a very personal experience. It is very individual. We own it. However in this day and age that ownership can be lost, or taken away, scared out of us, or even not given to us at all.
I am writing this with tired eyes after happily night parenting my son half of last night, then travelling an hour each way for a day of placement, so forgive any typos.
My son is 9 months old tomorrow. 9 whole months. He has been outside for around two weeks less than the time he was snuggled up in the womb.
He could very well have been in there longer. Had I known what I know now.
Being a nurse I know a lot of the anatomy and physiology of things and understand a lot about the medical side of birth and labour. My birth experience was my own, I am proud of it, I am not ashamed of it but I probably would have done things differently; had I known what I know now.
I had heard lots of stories when I was pregnant from those who had been there before. I embraced them. I welcomed them. I was happy to hear of the ones who did it well, and know that it could be done. And I was also happy to take on board when things didn't go so well.
I had gone into my labour and birth EXPECTING great things. I was prepared. I was slightly nervous but I wasn't fearful. My body was made to do this, I should know what to do. It is all natural and loads of women have done it for millions of years before me.
I was sure that I was going to ace it. I was having a hospital birth because he was my first child and I wasn't comfortable (or even sure I was able to have the option) doing it at home, and we don't have a birthing centre.
I was going to do it without any medical intervention and without drugs. If only I knew what I knew now.
I was due Oct 15th, on the friday. I was still pregnant the following Tuesday when I saw the OB. at that point I was given my first internal and I was at 1.5-2cm dilated. She performed a stretch and sweep. I thought it was uncomfortable, but it didn't hurt. If that was what labour pains felt like I was confident.
My plug started to move on the wednesday after copious amounts of walking and exercise. I wanted this baby to hurry up and get out. I was sick of being pregnant. I hadn't researched much about going over term. But I believed the things I had heard and therefore didn't want to go so far over that it was putting my baby at risk. (If only I knew what I know now).
Thursday I did a few minutes on the cross trainer and I was able to have a rest. I woke with my first real contractions. They were irregular but they were real. and they continued all day and all night. I hardly slept a wink. In the morning a shower held them at bay for a short time and I got an hour or two of sleep.
We were supposed to be going to the hospital on the Friday anyway for a post due date check up. A monitoring session or something. We packed up the stuff and headed over early. I spent several hours on the CTG.
Contractions were happening but still not really regular.
Friday evening we went to a pub for tea and they were more regular and stronger by then. It made eating a very uncomfortable experience. But I enjoyed fish and chips and salad. My last proper meal as a before birth person.
I ended up at the hospital by 10pm Friday night. I wanted to know what was happening. On reflection I wish I had taken some pain relief and tried to get some sleep. It may well have had a totally different outcome. Another internal and I was 3cm.
A few more hours of monitoring and I wasn't fitting their 'criteria' at the hospital. So they sent me home around 3am (to the motel we booked for the night). I was given temazepam and some panadeine. And they wanted me to sleep. I was already too uncomfortable to sleep. I was excited more than anything. But the contractions were hurting more and more. And staying 3-5 minutes apart.
I think I slept for about half an hour. That was about 2.5 hours sleep in two nights. I paced around as long as I physically could being about triple my normal size with fluid by now. It was uncomfortable to walk. I tried different positions, standing, sitting, laying, chairs, bed, floor, whatever. Nothing worked for very long.
Except the showers. The showers were amazing. I had about 20 of them. A bonus of the motel meant using as much hot water as I liked, and no extra charge for it :)
I lasted until 8am Saturday (8 days post partum) and returned to the hospital, knowing that I wouldn't come home without my new baby. By 10am I was still 3cm dilated. My midwife offered to break my waters and I agreed.
By this stage I was exhausted. I wanted it over and done with. I could not move like I wanted to due to excessive fluid.
Nothing much happened so at around 1pm they started the artificial drip. Wow. What a crazy idea that was!
I couldn't use the showers as it was too hard with the drip and the monitors. My mum and sister were my support people, whilst they were great being there, they weren't as active as say a supportive partner would be. I really wish I'd had that assistance (back massages etc).
I turned to pain relief because I was so utterly tired I didn't think I'd be able to physically push the baby out. I had a shot of pethidine to help me get a rest and gain some strength for later. It worked well for a little while.
Then it started wearing off, the intensity was getting pretty full on because of the drip. I was offered gas and I tried it but didn't like it. So that was the end of that.
I wanted an epidural. I was sick of the pain. I thought I could handle it. How wrong I was. If only I knew what I'd learn later.
I didn't get the epi because I had a fever (possibly reaction to the pethidine). In that moment I was shattered. However shortly after I got a fentanyl drip up for pain relief instead, I felt an incredible urge to push.
THANK HEAVENS I didn't have an epi, how ever would I have known? It was so amazing that I just knew. And the amount of adrenaline that welled up blew my mind. The contractions were no longer painful, they were intense, but they were absolutely empowering and amazing. Each contraction, each little push I was closer to meeting my son.
I was about to experience the most amazing thing in my life to date. I was so incredibly excited.
After 2 sleepless days. After 50 hours of contractions. After feeling like I could not possibly move a muscle if my life depended on it, I had the biggest surge of energy. And I pushed out my son in just 27 minutes.
Less than half an hour and he was there for me to meet. It was unbelievable.
This perfect tiny human that I created and grew inside me. All the pain was worth it.
So I'd like to say to any expecting mums, it does hurt, it doesn't tickle. The pain is what you make of it. Some people (quite a lot) say that it can be experienced as simply a sensation, a necessary part of birth, they don't even call it pain (but that doesn't mean it isn't there -and you would be naive to think it is a total breeze. labour and birth is hard work. some people just handle it so much better.).
And what do I know now?
*Firstly that babies will come when they are ready.
*That babies have come at 42 or 43 weeks without dying, or any other significant problems.
*That I could have done without so many internals.
*That the hospital follows a strict timeline and if you are at a certain point they try and push for more intervention. I was VERY close to an emergency c section, however I didn't quite fit the criteria. thank goodness!
*That my body knows what to do and I should have trusted it even more than I did.
*That if I wasn't induced I probably could have gone without the pethidine and fentanyl.
*That unnecessary intervention (induction) lead to my choices to take pain relief due to the pain being artificially induced and not trusting my body to do things in its own time.
*That the stretch and sweep was pointless in my case because I dilated very slowly over a few days anyway.
*That outside pressures and the fact that it is just so 'normalized' in our society to have epidurals, induction or drugs readily available can totally sway a persons birth experience.
*That I am certainly capable of birthing naturally, through pain (because I did in the end push him out based on instinct, and nature and sensation and an innate knowledge by my body to know what to do).
*That I am probably capable of birthing drug free if I ever have more children, and I hope I get the chance to try.
*That I am thankful I knew all the possibilites when learning about birth whilst pregnant, but that I could have done even more research and been even better prepared (though I think most of the time the first time around you can't possibly know exactly what to expect and many people would feel similarly that they did things slightly different with their first birth to how they'd want following experiences to turn out (you can only truly learn from it if you've done it)
Having said that I don't regret taking the pain relief I chose at the time. It was right for me there in that moment. I don't regret the induction or the stretch and sweep. I just learned from them and will follow a different plan if there is ever a next time for me :)
Monday, 13 June 2011
Dear Deadly Drivers
Driving scares the hell out of me. I mean I like it, the open road, and the sanctity of being inside my own car singing away to my own tunes but it also scares me.
I do a LOT of driving lately, with the trip to Vinny's dads place being a 45 minute drive away.
I take him there 2 or sometimes 3 times a week.
And then I drive the same distance in a different direction each Tuesday to go to my Uni course.
Each and every time I'm on the road I encounter some people with very questionable, stupid, and downright dangerous driving skills. HOW do these people get their licence? I have precious cargo onboard most of the time. That beautiful baby boy who rides in the back. and I drive carefully, in fact.. I drive like a nanna.. but the rest of you.. shame shame shame!
Dear Mr bumper-rider/up-your-bum-driver/can't-see-the-headlights-on-your-car-because-you're-TOO FAR-up-my-ass driver..
You bug the hell out of me because if I were to slam my brakes on at any moment for a kangaroo or someone slamming theirs on or a fallen tree or whatever reason; I know you will shunt me from behind at 100kms/hour and that doesn't end well for any of us.
Dear Mr leap frog/ impatient/ overtake-3-cars-AT ONCE driver...
You also bug the hell out of me. That is just plain stupidity. And obviously if I'm the middle car in the 3 it means the slow person in front of me is the problem, and IF I had a clear safe chance to overtake them chances are I would have already.
that brings me to
Dear Mrs slower than slow/a tortoise would beat you/I-wish-I-had-a-sign-to-show-you-that-says-do-the GOD DAMN SPEED LIMIT driver...
You irritate me so bad. 90kms or 80kms in a 100kms zone is annoying, frustrating and
Dear Mr confused/are you sure you don't have bipolar?/speed-up-and-slow-down-and-can't-drive-at-a CONSTANT SPEED driver...
Oh.EM.Gee! You are so ridiculous. I mean doing the tortoise AND THEN speeding up so that I have to do a ridiculous speed to overtake you. How stupid is that!!!!!
Or the other version which is to sit on 80kms/hour all the way into town, right through the 100 zone, then the 80 zone and STILL DOING 80 in the 60 zone. WTF is up with that? and sooooooooo many drivers do this. Are you all blind or just plain ignorant?
Dear Mrs non-blinkers/failure to use that little thing called an indicator/inappropriate-use-of-your-turning-signal (or lack thereof)
Annoying. Frustrating. Stupid. I want to beep my horn and swear at you and give you the finger, however in todays world it is just too unsafe to make rude gestures at anyone because you may well find yourself stabbed.
Dear Mr hurrypants/failure to stop at stop signs, or give way with minimal clearance/you-just-floored-it-across-that-intersection-within MILLISECONDS of that oncoming car driver..
Accident waiting to happen you are. What difference is a few seconds going to make. Where ever you are going will still be there. If you misjudge that gap or your car doesn't perform as it should and you can't get through their safely, it will still be there but you WON'T be coming to see it.
Dear Mr and Mrs complete moron/you are driving on a road with other users who want to get home alive/that-is-a-car-your-driving-not-a-freaking-FORMULA ONE car driver..
I hate your stinking guts! I think the title you have is enough to understand the point. People like me don't drive like nannas to arrive home safely just for the hell of it. The road is a dangerous enough place without stupid speedsters like yourselves. I really don't like the idea of being the one doing CPR on your sorry ass 10kms down the road after you've smashed your car into a tree, or some poor innocent bastard who got in your way.
AND THEN sometimes, if you are super unlucky you get them all in one... the whole bad driving jackpot..
(in the case of the other day) there was the guy who did 70 in the 100 zone (thats the tortoise), sped up to like 120 while I tried to overtake and (thats the confused) then sat up my a$$ (thats the bumper-rider) and OVERTOOK ME back again (thats the leap frog) and finally sped off into the distance in front of me (thats the complete moron). You Sir are a Prize F*ck Head. Go back to South Australia (where your plates were from) and drive over there please, we don't want you on our roads.
Vent over.
I do a LOT of driving lately, with the trip to Vinny's dads place being a 45 minute drive away.
I take him there 2 or sometimes 3 times a week.
And then I drive the same distance in a different direction each Tuesday to go to my Uni course.
Each and every time I'm on the road I encounter some people with very questionable, stupid, and downright dangerous driving skills. HOW do these people get their licence? I have precious cargo onboard most of the time. That beautiful baby boy who rides in the back. and I drive carefully, in fact.. I drive like a nanna.. but the rest of you.. shame shame shame!
Dear Mr bumper-rider/up-your-bum-driver/can't-see-the-headlights-on-your-car-because-you're-TOO FAR-up-my-ass driver..
You bug the hell out of me because if I were to slam my brakes on at any moment for a kangaroo or someone slamming theirs on or a fallen tree or whatever reason; I know you will shunt me from behind at 100kms/hour and that doesn't end well for any of us.
Dear Mr leap frog/ impatient/ overtake-3-cars-AT ONCE driver...
You also bug the hell out of me. That is just plain stupidity. And obviously if I'm the middle car in the 3 it means the slow person in front of me is the problem, and IF I had a clear safe chance to overtake them chances are I would have already.
that brings me to
Dear Mrs slower than slow/a tortoise would beat you/I-wish-I-had-a-sign-to-show-you-that-says-do-the GOD DAMN SPEED LIMIT driver...
You irritate me so bad. 90kms or 80kms in a 100kms zone is annoying, frustrating and
Dear Mr confused/are you sure you don't have bipolar?/speed-up-and-slow-down-and-can't-drive-at-a CONSTANT SPEED driver...
Oh.EM.Gee! You are so ridiculous. I mean doing the tortoise AND THEN speeding up so that I have to do a ridiculous speed to overtake you. How stupid is that!!!!!
Or the other version which is to sit on 80kms/hour all the way into town, right through the 100 zone, then the 80 zone and STILL DOING 80 in the 60 zone. WTF is up with that? and sooooooooo many drivers do this. Are you all blind or just plain ignorant?
Dear Mrs non-blinkers/failure to use that little thing called an indicator/inappropriate-use-of-your-turning-signal (or lack thereof)
Annoying. Frustrating. Stupid. I want to beep my horn and swear at you and give you the finger, however in todays world it is just too unsafe to make rude gestures at anyone because you may well find yourself stabbed.
Dear Mr hurrypants/failure to stop at stop signs, or give way with minimal clearance/you-just-floored-it-across-that-intersection-within MILLISECONDS of that oncoming car driver..
Accident waiting to happen you are. What difference is a few seconds going to make. Where ever you are going will still be there. If you misjudge that gap or your car doesn't perform as it should and you can't get through their safely, it will still be there but you WON'T be coming to see it.
Dear Mr and Mrs complete moron/you are driving on a road with other users who want to get home alive/that-is-a-car-your-driving-not-a-freaking-FORMULA ONE car driver..
I hate your stinking guts! I think the title you have is enough to understand the point. People like me don't drive like nannas to arrive home safely just for the hell of it. The road is a dangerous enough place without stupid speedsters like yourselves. I really don't like the idea of being the one doing CPR on your sorry ass 10kms down the road after you've smashed your car into a tree, or some poor innocent bastard who got in your way.
AND THEN sometimes, if you are super unlucky you get them all in one... the whole bad driving jackpot..
(in the case of the other day) there was the guy who did 70 in the 100 zone (thats the tortoise), sped up to like 120 while I tried to overtake and (thats the confused) then sat up my a$$ (thats the bumper-rider) and OVERTOOK ME back again (thats the leap frog) and finally sped off into the distance in front of me (thats the complete moron). You Sir are a Prize F*ck Head. Go back to South Australia (where your plates were from) and drive over there please, we don't want you on our roads.
Vent over.
Sunday, 12 June 2011
The Great Outdoors
Today we had a rare whole day together (between me studying, working and him going to spend time with his father).
The weather outdoors is fabulous for mid-june and so we took the pram out for a spin and had a picnic lunch at the gardens.
I have only taken him outdoors to play somewhere like this a few times. I can probably count them on one hand. Does that make me a lazy mother?
I really should start doing it more often though it was so enjoyable and it's nice to get out of the house.
Daily life can be so mundane.
We spent about 45 minutes down there. Laying on rugs on the grass. Beautiful green grass.
Underneath the biggest gum tree.
There was a gentle wafting breeze, but it was not cold. The sun was shining through the tree tops and there were a few fluffy clouds floating around.
I took about a million gazillion photos of him.
He just sat there with a few ball toys for most of the time, and layed looking up and around.
There were birds chirping different birdy noises and he'd stop and look to try and find the source.
He pulled up blades of grass and played with crunchy leaves.
It was so nice and quiet (apart from the passing traffic, the birds and the wind). There were hardly any people in sight.
Then all of a sudden groups of 3-4 people appeared with paper running frantically round looking for stuff. They were seeking 'answers' to some sort of 'quiz' or 'hunt'. It was a strange sight. But it must have been a race.
The tiniest glimpse of a person, or the faintest noise of human speak and Vinny would be looking around to see who it was. They were metres and metres away. But that didn't stop him babbling and saying his hellos.
Unfortunately for Vinny nobody was really paying attention. So caught up in their race/game/thing. So hurriedly rushing about. Not really taking in the beauty of the day, like we were.
And he let them know too. He growled because they were ignoring him. He yelled and babbled even louder. I just giggled. Cheeky boy, always wanting to be the centre of attention.
Here's one of my fave pictures from todays outing.
The weather outdoors is fabulous for mid-june and so we took the pram out for a spin and had a picnic lunch at the gardens.
I have only taken him outdoors to play somewhere like this a few times. I can probably count them on one hand. Does that make me a lazy mother?
I really should start doing it more often though it was so enjoyable and it's nice to get out of the house.
Daily life can be so mundane.
We spent about 45 minutes down there. Laying on rugs on the grass. Beautiful green grass.
Underneath the biggest gum tree.
There was a gentle wafting breeze, but it was not cold. The sun was shining through the tree tops and there were a few fluffy clouds floating around.
I took about a million gazillion photos of him.
He just sat there with a few ball toys for most of the time, and layed looking up and around.
There were birds chirping different birdy noises and he'd stop and look to try and find the source.
He pulled up blades of grass and played with crunchy leaves.
It was so nice and quiet (apart from the passing traffic, the birds and the wind). There were hardly any people in sight.
Then all of a sudden groups of 3-4 people appeared with paper running frantically round looking for stuff. They were seeking 'answers' to some sort of 'quiz' or 'hunt'. It was a strange sight. But it must have been a race.
The tiniest glimpse of a person, or the faintest noise of human speak and Vinny would be looking around to see who it was. They were metres and metres away. But that didn't stop him babbling and saying his hellos.
Unfortunately for Vinny nobody was really paying attention. So caught up in their race/game/thing. So hurriedly rushing about. Not really taking in the beauty of the day, like we were.
And he let them know too. He growled because they were ignoring him. He yelled and babbled even louder. I just giggled. Cheeky boy, always wanting to be the centre of attention.
Friday, 10 June 2011
seizing today
following on from my long previous post that totally got off topic and had me on a whole different tangent.....
Living life to the fullest, what does it even mean?
For me, right now it means loving my son with all that I've got. And looking after myself so that I have a chance to be around to do things, to live.
Money limits our level of living to some extent. I have a lot of things I'd like to do but can't afford right now. But I am young with *HOPEFULLY* a long life ahead of me and I still have one thing on my side and that is time. Nothing limits our ability to live more than death.
Which is why I am on a health kick. Starting yesterday. I am going to eat healthy and exercise more. It is a work in progress. I'm starting a food/exercise diary to keep track of what I do. With notes about what I feel like at the time, in order to try and rewrite my hunger patterns and stop 'grazing' like a sheep all day.
To stop comfort eating when I'm upset, or bored, or stressed out.
Today I'm on a roll.
I've had ACTUAL breakfast for the first time in a while. A bowl of cereal and milk.
I've had a snack, of fruit (watermelon) which I shared with bubba Vinny and he still hates it. You should see his face when he eats it.
I've worked out on the wii fit and wii active.
I've taken a walk with the pram instead of driving.
I've come home despite walking right by KFC and thinking 'oh I should stop in and just get a snack box' and made myself a salad sandwich on quinoa and flaxseed bread. And I also had to walk past golden fried chicken indirectly (i could smell it from half a block away from the shop and it smelled sooooooooooooooo good!).
I am proud of my efforts. And I hope to reward myself with a sweet treat after a week. I can still eat sweets in moderation. But I have to stop making excuses and take responsibility for my health.
My number one priority is my beautiful baby boy, and I need to ensure I'm actually around to be here for him.
On a side note:
Instead of the words carpe diem, another idea I've had for my tattoo is a bucket list. This idea partly came from a family friend whom passed from cancer and only knew she had it for 6 months. In that 6 months despite illness and treatment she made a 'bucket list' and completed several things off it.
So the tattoo I am thinking about.... Is of a bucket.
As in an actual bucket with a check list on it that simply says live, love, learn, laugh often. (Surrounded by roses or something to pretty it up some). I still have to get it drawn up and see if it can be as nice as it is in my head.
That is ALL there really is to life after all. Live -don't just waste your life away. Love -family, friends, partners, children, animals, work, whatever it is that you love just love it well. Learn -there are always new things to learn no matter how old you are and Laugh Often -because life would be dull without laughter.
A sweet reminder of all those who have gone before me.
Living life to the fullest, what does it even mean?
For me, right now it means loving my son with all that I've got. And looking after myself so that I have a chance to be around to do things, to live.
Money limits our level of living to some extent. I have a lot of things I'd like to do but can't afford right now. But I am young with *HOPEFULLY* a long life ahead of me and I still have one thing on my side and that is time. Nothing limits our ability to live more than death.
Which is why I am on a health kick. Starting yesterday. I am going to eat healthy and exercise more. It is a work in progress. I'm starting a food/exercise diary to keep track of what I do. With notes about what I feel like at the time, in order to try and rewrite my hunger patterns and stop 'grazing' like a sheep all day.
To stop comfort eating when I'm upset, or bored, or stressed out.
Today I'm on a roll.
I've had ACTUAL breakfast for the first time in a while. A bowl of cereal and milk.
I've had a snack, of fruit (watermelon) which I shared with bubba Vinny and he still hates it. You should see his face when he eats it.
I've worked out on the wii fit and wii active.
I've taken a walk with the pram instead of driving.
I've come home despite walking right by KFC and thinking 'oh I should stop in and just get a snack box' and made myself a salad sandwich on quinoa and flaxseed bread. And I also had to walk past golden fried chicken indirectly (i could smell it from half a block away from the shop and it smelled sooooooooooooooo good!).
I am proud of my efforts. And I hope to reward myself with a sweet treat after a week. I can still eat sweets in moderation. But I have to stop making excuses and take responsibility for my health.
My number one priority is my beautiful baby boy, and I need to ensure I'm actually around to be here for him.
On a side note:
Instead of the words carpe diem, another idea I've had for my tattoo is a bucket list. This idea partly came from a family friend whom passed from cancer and only knew she had it for 6 months. In that 6 months despite illness and treatment she made a 'bucket list' and completed several things off it.
So the tattoo I am thinking about.... Is of a bucket.
As in an actual bucket with a check list on it that simply says live, love, learn, laugh often. (Surrounded by roses or something to pretty it up some). I still have to get it drawn up and see if it can be as nice as it is in my head.
That is ALL there really is to life after all. Live -don't just waste your life away. Love -family, friends, partners, children, animals, work, whatever it is that you love just love it well. Learn -there are always new things to learn no matter how old you are and Laugh Often -because life would be dull without laughter.
A sweet reminder of all those who have gone before me.
Carpe Diem (seize the day!)
It took me half the day to realize that there was in fact a significance about todays date, the 10th of June.
Over time I guess it gets away from you. But then I still remembered... I guess you can never forget completely.
9 years ago today. 9 WHOLE YEARS. that is a whopping 3287 days, 468 weeks or 108 months.
That much time ago today there was a girl in my year level at school who passed away. she died. she was just 14 at the time.
how did she die? it was actually the queens birthday long weekend and she was visiting a friend, she had a sudden severe asthma attack, they rushed her to the hospital and did all they could but she died.
I can still remember the eerie feeling at the schoolyard that morning this day 9 years ago. The previous year an older male student had committed suicide and this particular morning was reminiscent of that time.. The same eerie feeling that there had been the day the news of his death broke.
The students around the school were quiet and just not the same as usual. The flag was flying half mast. The 9am bell never rang for the first class.
Then there was an announcement for an assembly and a briefing from the teachers. I don't know about everyone else but I knew what was coming; bad news. I glanced around the assembled students trying to guess/predict whose name was about to get mentioned. Not a clue.
And then they said it. Some of the girls in my year who were her friends but obviously hadn't been informed yet collapsed to the ground. Some people behind laughed.
I couldn't believe that somebody my age could die like that. It happens everywhere but until it happens to someone you know you don't really 'get it'. How temporary this life on earth really is.
There was counselling available and the multi purpose room was available for crying and grieving and dealing with this tragic news. A lot of people missed class that day. We made a tribute poster with words about her. On a humungous sheet of white paper. We drew pictures and wrote notes to her, in her memory.
They played her favourite songs over and over and over on repeat. For 2 whole days.
'heal the world' and 'man in the mirror'.
the heal the world track kept skipping, as if it were her saying stop sobbing and get on with life.
man in the mirror still brings a tear to my eye to this day when I hear the intro music. 9 years after.
I was really affected by this tragedy. For my own reasons.
She was not a close friend.. She was in only one of my classes, and occasionally we spoke in the school yard. One of my crushes was a friend of hers and when I think of her I often remember back to the day I wanted to talk to him and she and a mutual friend (who sadly is also now living in the after life ...but that's a whole other story..) tried to force me to go and talk to this older guy crush at lunch time. And when I got over there I was too shy to say more than hello anyway.
The same mutual friend from that memory was with me when we were grieving for her. We left the room where all the others were hugging, crying, remembering and went to get a drink from the canteen. When we returned the other girls had closed the dividers in the middle of the room, locking the 2 of us out.
How disgusting is that to do. Sure they were her best friends and hurting, but the pure bitchiness of that act, grieving or not it shook me to my core. They were basically saying that we had no right to be upset. Um, SOMEONE IN OUR YEAR LEVEL JUST DIED. Are you kidding me? No she wasn't my bestie or anything but I still knew her. Holy crap teenage girls can be so damn nasty.
To me she was an acquaintance. She had green hair and she wore it short and spiked up in a trendy style. She was not the centre of attention type, but she was popular. She could dance an awesome moon walk and loved Michael Jackson. She had many friends. In my head I didn't even like her. In my head I hated her. Especially after she borrowed something personal from me in class and never gave it back. So silly.
I felt sooooooooooooooooooooooooo guilty for a long time that she must have died thinking that I hated her guts. But I never told her that, I never acted like it. She never knew what I was thinking about. And in reflection its all just high school drama. Sadly, I actually learnt a lot more about her after she had died. I respect who she was and what she could have been.
'She was a humanitarian' this was the first line of her tribute page in the year book. Humanitarian, a caring person who donated to charity and did things like shave for a cure. That was my kind of person. I didn't even know. Here I am 9 years later and wondering if she were still around what she could have done. She could have been the next generation Oprah or something. But her life was just stopped. Just like that.
Her funeral was sad. They played her favourite songs. They had photos of her on a table. Her best friends wrote letters to go into her coffin. Her mum collapsed in grief in the middle of the aisle. Her sister at the time only 10 or 11, going through one of the most horrible experiences imaginable. We released balloons of her favourite colour. That was it, she was gone, she was never coming back.
The moral of this post is that life is short. And ever since that day I've vowed to live my life the best I can. In honour of all the people who haven't had the chance to do the things they want to do.
And she was just the first of many people who've meant something (even if a tiny part) in my existence who are already on the other side. So many good people who've gone too young.
Carpe Diem. SEIZE THE DAY!
One day I'm getting a tattoo of this or something similar. In all of their memory.
R.I.P Kate.
Over time I guess it gets away from you. But then I still remembered... I guess you can never forget completely.
9 years ago today. 9 WHOLE YEARS. that is a whopping 3287 days, 468 weeks or 108 months.
That much time ago today there was a girl in my year level at school who passed away. she died. she was just 14 at the time.
how did she die? it was actually the queens birthday long weekend and she was visiting a friend, she had a sudden severe asthma attack, they rushed her to the hospital and did all they could but she died.
I can still remember the eerie feeling at the schoolyard that morning this day 9 years ago. The previous year an older male student had committed suicide and this particular morning was reminiscent of that time.. The same eerie feeling that there had been the day the news of his death broke.
The students around the school were quiet and just not the same as usual. The flag was flying half mast. The 9am bell never rang for the first class.
Then there was an announcement for an assembly and a briefing from the teachers. I don't know about everyone else but I knew what was coming; bad news. I glanced around the assembled students trying to guess/predict whose name was about to get mentioned. Not a clue.
And then they said it. Some of the girls in my year who were her friends but obviously hadn't been informed yet collapsed to the ground. Some people behind laughed.
I couldn't believe that somebody my age could die like that. It happens everywhere but until it happens to someone you know you don't really 'get it'. How temporary this life on earth really is.
There was counselling available and the multi purpose room was available for crying and grieving and dealing with this tragic news. A lot of people missed class that day. We made a tribute poster with words about her. On a humungous sheet of white paper. We drew pictures and wrote notes to her, in her memory.
They played her favourite songs over and over and over on repeat. For 2 whole days.
'heal the world' and 'man in the mirror'.
the heal the world track kept skipping, as if it were her saying stop sobbing and get on with life.
man in the mirror still brings a tear to my eye to this day when I hear the intro music. 9 years after.
I was really affected by this tragedy. For my own reasons.
She was not a close friend.. She was in only one of my classes, and occasionally we spoke in the school yard. One of my crushes was a friend of hers and when I think of her I often remember back to the day I wanted to talk to him and she and a mutual friend (who sadly is also now living in the after life ...but that's a whole other story..) tried to force me to go and talk to this older guy crush at lunch time. And when I got over there I was too shy to say more than hello anyway.
The same mutual friend from that memory was with me when we were grieving for her. We left the room where all the others were hugging, crying, remembering and went to get a drink from the canteen. When we returned the other girls had closed the dividers in the middle of the room, locking the 2 of us out.
How disgusting is that to do. Sure they were her best friends and hurting, but the pure bitchiness of that act, grieving or not it shook me to my core. They were basically saying that we had no right to be upset. Um, SOMEONE IN OUR YEAR LEVEL JUST DIED. Are you kidding me? No she wasn't my bestie or anything but I still knew her. Holy crap teenage girls can be so damn nasty.
To me she was an acquaintance. She had green hair and she wore it short and spiked up in a trendy style. She was not the centre of attention type, but she was popular. She could dance an awesome moon walk and loved Michael Jackson. She had many friends. In my head I didn't even like her. In my head I hated her. Especially after she borrowed something personal from me in class and never gave it back. So silly.
I felt sooooooooooooooooooooooooo guilty for a long time that she must have died thinking that I hated her guts. But I never told her that, I never acted like it. She never knew what I was thinking about. And in reflection its all just high school drama. Sadly, I actually learnt a lot more about her after she had died. I respect who she was and what she could have been.
'She was a humanitarian' this was the first line of her tribute page in the year book. Humanitarian, a caring person who donated to charity and did things like shave for a cure. That was my kind of person. I didn't even know. Here I am 9 years later and wondering if she were still around what she could have done. She could have been the next generation Oprah or something. But her life was just stopped. Just like that.
Her funeral was sad. They played her favourite songs. They had photos of her on a table. Her best friends wrote letters to go into her coffin. Her mum collapsed in grief in the middle of the aisle. Her sister at the time only 10 or 11, going through one of the most horrible experiences imaginable. We released balloons of her favourite colour. That was it, she was gone, she was never coming back.
The moral of this post is that life is short. And ever since that day I've vowed to live my life the best I can. In honour of all the people who haven't had the chance to do the things they want to do.
And she was just the first of many people who've meant something (even if a tiny part) in my existence who are already on the other side. So many good people who've gone too young.
Carpe Diem. SEIZE THE DAY!
One day I'm getting a tattoo of this or something similar. In all of their memory.
R.I.P Kate.
The wonder month!
Ever wonder about a wonder week?
Or perhaps a wonder month?
What is it?
Apparently it is a period of time wherein a babies development goes full steam and they reach great milestones and this can also be a time for crankiness, sleeplessness and all other tantrum-ey behaviours.
I didn't really think they were real. Until we hit the 7 month mark.
For the past few months (well the first 7 really) V has been just cruising along day by day not doing anything miraculous or amazing.
Just being a baby. Making small maybe-once-a-week discoveries but nothing outstanding or extraordinary.
Then suddenly BAM! Out of nowhere everything all at once. 2 days before 7 months he popped out his 3rd tooth. He already had the bottom front two, but in the past 3 weeks he's busted out a whole FOUR new top teeth.
Sooooo - he's been teething, big deal?!
Since that 7 month mark he's just generally come along in leaps and bounds. Development crazy.
*He's gone from waking 1-4 times a night to sleeping through the night for the past 3-4 weeks straight :)
*He's gone from laying around and wriggling a little around in circles - to commando crawling half way and then all the way across the room chasing toys/shoes/feet/dirty nappies or whatever he can see.
*He's gone from flat on his back, to FINALLY mastering the skill of rolling from back to belly.
(I never thought I'd see the day!)
*He's gone from blowing raspberries to blowing air and giving the most adorable sloppy kisses (and sometimes a kiss with a raspberry surprise!!).
*He's gone from tentatively sitting for seconds, to sitting by himself for minutes and shifting his weight around to reach things, and get down onto his tummy.
*He's gone from saying basically only ey-ooo (his version of hello) to a proper 'hello' and a myriad of new words like 'hey' 'hi' 'mum' 'dad' 'nan' 'nanny' 'bubba' 'mumma' 'daddy' 'Ash' (my mums cat named Asha) and his newest and cutest most adorable word 'meow' (which he said to Asha when she came over to say hi to him).
And just yesterday he waved goodbye!! :)
awwwwwwwwww my heart is almost bursting with pride. the things they learn and the amount they grow and change. It is so hard to keep up. I take as many photos and videos as I can to record the constantly changing being that he is. Now I just have to take time out to catalog them on the computer in order and all that so I know what is what..
I wonder if it is a wonder month? Or if it just all clicked at once.
Or perhaps a wonder month?
What is it?
Apparently it is a period of time wherein a babies development goes full steam and they reach great milestones and this can also be a time for crankiness, sleeplessness and all other tantrum-ey behaviours.
I didn't really think they were real. Until we hit the 7 month mark.
For the past few months (well the first 7 really) V has been just cruising along day by day not doing anything miraculous or amazing.
Just being a baby. Making small maybe-once-a-week discoveries but nothing outstanding or extraordinary.
Then suddenly BAM! Out of nowhere everything all at once. 2 days before 7 months he popped out his 3rd tooth. He already had the bottom front two, but in the past 3 weeks he's busted out a whole FOUR new top teeth.
Sooooo - he's been teething, big deal?!
Since that 7 month mark he's just generally come along in leaps and bounds. Development crazy.
*He's gone from waking 1-4 times a night to sleeping through the night for the past 3-4 weeks straight :)
*He's gone from laying around and wriggling a little around in circles - to commando crawling half way and then all the way across the room chasing toys/shoes/feet/dirty nappies or whatever he can see.
*He's gone from flat on his back, to FINALLY mastering the skill of rolling from back to belly.
(I never thought I'd see the day!)
*He's gone from blowing raspberries to blowing air and giving the most adorable sloppy kisses (and sometimes a kiss with a raspberry surprise!!).
*He's gone from tentatively sitting for seconds, to sitting by himself for minutes and shifting his weight around to reach things, and get down onto his tummy.
*He's gone from saying basically only ey-ooo (his version of hello) to a proper 'hello' and a myriad of new words like 'hey' 'hi' 'mum' 'dad' 'nan' 'nanny' 'bubba' 'mumma' 'daddy' 'Ash' (my mums cat named Asha) and his newest and cutest most adorable word 'meow' (which he said to Asha when she came over to say hi to him).
And just yesterday he waved goodbye!! :)
awwwwwwwwww my heart is almost bursting with pride. the things they learn and the amount they grow and change. It is so hard to keep up. I take as many photos and videos as I can to record the constantly changing being that he is. Now I just have to take time out to catalog them on the computer in order and all that so I know what is what..
I wonder if it is a wonder month? Or if it just all clicked at once.
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