My Sixth Sense

I don't know if I would go so far as to call myself psychic but I have always been attuned to my thoughts and of an innate ability to predict some things before they happen. When I was a teenager, this talent presented itself in different forms. I would anticipate such things as songs that would play on the radio or missing the bus or even having friends stand me up. Sometimes these thoughts would come to me mere moments before the event, other times there would be a forewarning of minutes even hours . 

When your daddy and I went to Italy in 2007 we visited your grandad's (my dad's) grave on the lovely island of Sicily. It was the first time I'd been to Italy since my dad's passing and I was quietly apprehensive. The day came to visit him and your dad and I did so with the help of my uncle's late wife. It was a very emotional occasion but also therapeutic. I knew my dad had wanted to return to his homeland to die and it brought me great satisfaction to visit him here. Weeks after the cemetery visit we stayed with my dad's sister in her home in Reggio Emilia. A couple of nights into the say I woke in a cold sweat. I dreamt that your grandad was sitting at the front of a bus with his back to me. Instinct told me it was him and just before I woke from the dream dad turned around and smiled at me. It was such a vivid dream and the first I have ever had that has affected me so much. It was also the first thought I'd had of your grandad in a long time since his death. I knew dad was contacting me in this dream. It was his way of telling me that he was grateful for the time I was spending with his sisters but also his way of reassuring me that everything would be ok. 

I tapped into my 'sixth sense' more recently when I received some news about your great grandfather. I blogged about him a couple of weeks ago and while writing the blog I had a feeling it would not be the last. Following an initial phone call from your uncle Chris to say that he had been rushed to hospital there was a week long wait before we got further news on his condition. During this time I had a bad feeling about things and began to imagine your great grandmother alone and started worrying about what would become of  their house and all their personal belongings. A few days later your great grandfather was diagnosed with acute lung cancer; his fate had been sealed. Even before I knew the gravity of his condition I spent many a sleepless night in deep thought. On the morning of Saturday 21st April, moments before a call confirming that Nonno had just weeks to live, I had a sense that I would need to email a friend and let her know that I would not be able to attend her daughter's birthday. Then the phone rang and the news was confirmed. That same morning I boarded a flight to the Gold Coast.

Sceptics would say that these 'thoughts' could be expected given the circumstances surrounding them and I can't deny that but I also have a sense that there is more to these cautionary feelings than most would give them credit. It's a pity such forewarnings tend toward the negative and do not bring with them promises of lotto wins or other good fortune.

Don't worry, I don't intend to moonlight as a fortune-teller any time soon. ;-)

Totally Clueless

My pregnancy was nine months of ignorant bliss. By that I mean I really had no idea what parenthood entailed or how our lives were about to change. Everyone told me to relax and go and see plenty of movies and I never stopped to think about why. They said to get my hair cut and get a manicure and a have facial and to sleep, sleep, SLEEP! But I was quietly ecstatic and energetic and I wasn't about to become a pregnant frump. I have always enjoyed exercising and did so up until the very end.


Although long, those nine months were easygoing with no hurdles to jump. In December 2010, at the start of my second trimester, we took a holiday to New Zealand to attend a friend's wedding. While exploring the South Island, your dad and I attempted to walk 11km of the Routeburn Track over one day. I wasn't about to let pregnancy get in the way of a good time. Along the rocky ascent through Alpine territory (around the halfway mark) I feared I'd overdone it and visions of a helicopter rescue came to mind. We took  a long break and refuelled before turning around and eventually making it back to safety. New Zealand is such an amazing country and I hope to be able to take you there one day. 

As the months progressed I felt happy, happier than I have ever felt and I enjoyed the compliments of my peers and the kids at school and had even begun to warm to the belly rubs I received from strangers. During my sixth month your daddy and I drove to Yallingup for our first wedding anniversary. The picture above was taken in the grounds of a nice winery after a celebratory meal. I was all belly. The following month I jumped on a plane to attend your uncle Chris' wedding. It was so nice to spend some time with my family again.

I continued to go to my fortnightly check ups at the hospital. You would kick and move and we listened closely for your heart beat. You were a little jockey riding a horse inside my belly. As we left the maternity ward I would glance up at the photos of breastfeeding women and think how content they all looked. Six days before my EDD I went for a routine check up and an ultrasound was ordered. The scans showed that you were slightly posterior. I started to think more about the labour and became obsessed by the thought of pain. I know it sounds silly but I hadn't even thought about what we'd have for dinner on our first night at home. Instead, I spent my last days of freedom reading up on the use of stress balls, aromatic oils and visual cues for for drug free labour. I continued to exercise, even when my body craved rest. 

Soon your daddy's birthday came around and he went into work armed with two carrot cakes I'd made for him. At dinner that night in a local Malaysian restaurant I decided to order a spicy dish. We joked about whether it would set the cogs in motion. It'd been a long day ending with an aqua class and I was too tired for conversation. When we got home I asked your dad to help me undress as by this stage I was too big to bend over. When I stood up there was a big gush of water and a sudden pounding in my heart. 

After being admitted to a birthing suite  things moved along quickly. I hadn't had a chance to burn oils or squeeze a stress ball or even to do much walking but I was too zoned out to realise or care. I lay on the bed on my side and tried to  keep hydrated in between contractions. The TENS machined strapped to my back I held the control so tightly that after a while it became one with my hand. After the tenth hour I asked for an epidural but was told the anaesthetist was attending a C-Section. Although almost 10cm dilated I began to feel afraid and doubt began to set in. When the time came to push I  had neither the energy nor the will. An hour later a doctor was called in to do a small episiotomy and out you popped. 

The rest a blur. For the next two days I saw so many nurses and specialists and you were weighted and you fed and you slept. I was in pain but with your daddy's help I staggered to the shower and washed. My stitches killed me and I couldn't even sit up in bed. I didn't care about the nondescript hospital food or the instant coffee or even the white bread. I ate it all and I looked at you with feelings of happiness and sheer terror. I wanted to go home as the nights were lonely and the sound of you crying almost broke me. When you were three days old we left the cold floors of the maternity ward. It was dark and wet and we drove home ever so slowly.
                

Neither your daddy nor I slept a wink that first night. We tossed and turned in a state of delirium and when you didn't make a sound I leapt from the bed just to check you were still breathing. Slowly I grew accustomed to the sleepless nights, adrenalin kept me in check whenever sleep fell upon me and I was soon able to sit comfortably upright to feed you. I neglected to do my pelvic floor exercises and felt guilty. You fussed when you fed and you posited all over the place all of the time. At first I would change you after every accident but the novelty of clean clothes soon wore off. The couch was my best friend and I breastfed and ate there most every hour of every day. Occasionally I would get up to go to the toilet or to check that there was still a world outside. If I got a shower in occasionally I was having a good week. You cried a lot during those early months. I had no idea how to make you stop but with time it passed and you got better. It took a good month before I could stop and look you in the eye and appreciate how beautiful you were. To this day I wonder how I survived those first few months.

You and I (with my trusty burp cloth)
Approx 1 month old

The Passage Of Time

Looking at you now it's hard to remember just how little you once were. Here's a photo time line from your first nine months:

Just hours old

With daddy in hospital

During your first month all
your clothes swam on you.

A couple of months old and looking
so alert.

At around four months on
your tummy.

With all your mothers group friends.
For a long time you were the smallest.

The wait was over. You started smiling
 at round four months of age.

Many a day was spent at our
local public pool.

The first time you grabbed hold of
something was very exciting. Circa
five months.

Enjoying having daddy on
holiday.

You loved strawberry and banana
 in your feeder as much as you
enjoyed feeding yourself.

At around six months you
learnt to sit. After that
you never looked back.

Checking out the lights with mum
and nanny.

Your favourite swing at our
local park.

A family snap from a holiday to Bali.
You were around seven months.

Standing supported at eight
months.

You finally decided to give commando
crawling a shot at around nine months.

Sitting upright and eating
food - nine months.

Having fun in your froggy pool.

You loved anything that you
could hang on to and practice
standing.

Just before your ten month birthday
with Nanna, Grandpa, Aunty Nicole
and Daddy.

Getting Crafty

I'm not a crafty person by any stretch of the word. I used to collect stickers and stamps and doodle in my school diary but none of these things require skill. I can't sew a button on or patch up a hole to save my life. In fact, I normally get your dad to do those things when the need arises. 

When your Nanna visited last week she was knitting a jumper for herself. I have only attempted to knit once before with a group of Year 3/4 students and it didn't go so well. Let's just say they were the ones teaching me and not vice versa. So when I was offered a lesson in how to do a knit stitch I was decidedly reluctant. I started very clumsily to knit a row and but just couldn't get a  proper grip on the needles. After completing ten rows my hand movements weren't even close to becoming synchronised but it was fun. Who would have thought?! Most of all, I  was  enjoying the process of seeing something come together before my eyes, even though it was yet to resemble anything.

The end result was a rather haphazard 'square' of wool of which I am proud, despite it's flaws. I am going to make it my mission to pick up some needles and wool this week and continue to practice my knit stitch. Who knows, I might even knit you something one day. 

The Old Man And The Dolphins

We were walking to Mardalup Park this morning as we always do. I was reminiscing the week that we'd shared with your daddy's mum and dad. The weeks seem to fly when we have guests, but I am always grateful for the chance to spend time with your family and for the opportunity for them to get to know you. 

Back to our walk along the path by the river. It's the same path we walk to get to the same park pretty much every day. I should probably take you to other parks but in many ways I'm a creature of habit. Plus you like this park and it's the only one nearby with a baby swing and equipment suitable for you.

You were grizzling and there was an obvious lack of spring in my step this morning; I was feeling tired and grumpy. We don't have late nights but the early mornings (you are such a morning person) have been catching up with me and I am starting to lament the lack of sleep. Passing under the foot bridge that connects the north and south sides of the Swan river I saw an old man standing in his slippers by the river bank. I felt sorry for him. It's a feeling I often feel for old people. I thought he probably doesn't have anybody at home to remind him that slippers are for indoors. No doubt he suffers from Alzheimer's and somehow wandered outside and ended up here. Just then I realised that his presence near the water was purposeful. He was following a pair of dolphins swimming near the shore. Another group of walkers stopped and so did we, waiting for the dolphins to surface again. The look of sheer pleasure on the old man's face was heart warming as his eyes darted from the water to the spectators nearby. It was a joy so pure that I couldn't help but smile. I took a mental image of this man's face that I hope to retrieve sometime in the future when the situation calls for it.

The happy old geezer really put things in perspective for me this morning. I wasn't going to let worries or a lack of sleep affect my mood  or my day. Life's too short, as they say.

So thank you old man.


P.S I hope you don't have Alzheimer's and just happen to be fond of your slippers. 

Eyes Wide Open

They say motherhood changes you and it does in so many ways. One obvious change is that I am now more time poor than ever before. I've never had a problem prioritising but I guess now that I don't have as much time on my hands, some things take preference over others. My priorities each day in no particular order consist of changing your nappy, feeding you something you like on time, entertaining you (trips to the park and building towers, playing peek a boo and singing nursery rhymes are favourites), shopping for groceries, going for walks, cleaning the house, planning and preparing dinner and running small errands. 

Any spare time I have is devoted to such things as reading, puzzling, blogging, napping and keeping in touch with friends. The latter pastime is one I really enjoyed before I had you (think long Skype appointments and letter writing) but  one which has become something of a luxury. Likewise, I have come the realisation that not all of my friendships were as genuine as I had believed them to be. 

Since having you, more than anything else, my eyes have been opened to the qualities which make a good person as well as what I have come to expect from my friendships. This raising of expectations and demanding more of my friends was borne from a very fundamental need for self preservation. I am done with giving so much of myself, I am tired of lazy friends and I have had it with selfish people. I took a reality check and a long hard look at a particular friendship and I realised that I really didn't like what I saw. It seems I didn't even know this 'friend' anymore. 

I've always been one to invest a lot into my friendships. I like to go the extra mile, not because I expect something in return but because that's the kind of person I am - caring, honest, open and available. Fortunately since your birth I have made some lovely friends in a group of mothers whom I hope to have for years to come. 

Friendships are so important. I hope that you will be fortunate enough to experience the joy and satisfaction of having at least one good friend. The quote below really sums up friendship for me.

True friendship is like sound health; the value of it is seldom known until it be lost.

Charles Caleb Colton

Family Matters

You first met your Great grandparents (mummy's grandparents) back when you were six months old. You had your first holiday on the Gold Coast and we spent an enjoyable, albeit slightly crazy week with them. I'm sure if you met your Great grandmother 'Nonna' again, you wouldn't forget her. She'd loud and boisterous, she will feed you until you can eat no more, though I'm sure you wouldn't mind given your seemingly insatiable appetite. She also has a tendency to repeat things (I haven't figured out yet whether this is an old people trait or something specific to your nonna). She lives for food; parmigiana alla melanzane and spaghetti bolognese are two of her specialities. Your nonna has a big heart but a fearful respect of her husband, your Nonno, and a related need to keep things from him (or things about him from others). I don't know why this is, but I suspect it has something to do with the upbringing they had as children to Italian migrants. The older Nonna gets the more secretive she becomes.


Today I received a phone call from your Uncle Chris (my brother) to say that your Nonno had been rushed to hospital but Nonna didn't want anybody knowing. I love my grandparents to bits but I think I would be quite disappointed if anything happened to them and I didn't find out until it was too late. Maybe they don't want to be a burden on others. I don't know why they feel that way but I find it quite sad. In addition to being a private person your Nonno is also very stubborn. Like many his age he refuses to go to a doctor, preferring instead to wait until it is absolutely necessary before seeking medical assistance. He is the type of man that wears his pride on his sleeve. He refuses to sell his home (despite living from one fortnight to the next on a measly pension) just to save face. What would the neighbours think? How would he explain himself? He is also sensitive like your Nonna, a trait which, dare I say, has been passed down the line. He never forgets if somebody does something wrong by him and has been know to become physically sick from stress. Interestingly, he refuses to believe that anxiety is an actual medical condition. Oh dear!

Your Nonna and Nonno had hard but fulfilling working lives. Your great grandmother came from a well to do family but your great grandfather was not so lucky. He had to work hard (17hrs/day in a glass works) to make ends meet providing not only for his family but also taking on the responsibility of marrying off his sisters when his parents could no longer work. He is creative and skilled and designed and made shoes before eventually utilising his eye for detail to open a successful fruit and vegetable shop called Sam's Fruit Bowl in Sydney. His 'regulars' consisted of socialites and the rich and famous of the day. When your Nonna and Nonno retired they moved to the Gold Coast, bought a block of land on a canal system in Robina and built their pride and joy - their home.

Nowadays they keep much to themselves. They don't socialise much but continue to  enjoy each others company. Although they can't afford it, your Nonna always sends me money for my birthday. The spoiling doesn't stop there. When you were born Nonna sent you SO MANY clothes. In fact, she sent 5 of the same sleep suit all in the one size. Unfortunately they were much too big for you at the time so you barely got any wear out of them. It's the thought that counts though and your Nonna is such a thoughtful person. She lives to please others, through her cooking and her warmth. 


I hope you get to meet your great grandparents when you're old enough to appreciate them as I've no doubt their kindness and quirks will leave an impression on you.

 

Cheeky Nonna feeding you banana

Cuddles with Nonno

 

A happy snap at the airport

From left, mummy, Nonno, Nonna,

Uncle Phil and you and nanny

What's Not To Love?!

Here's a little list of some of the things that I love about you. 

It's these very things that help me keep my perspective and remind me of  just how lucky I am to be your mum.

I love:

• When you bury your face in my face or my arm (or the nearest body part to you) like a puppy trying to maul a stuffed toy. I have to be careful now that you're armed with two bottom teeth!

• When you are sitting and you bend forward and plant your face on the floor, on purpose, like you are trying to perfect some weird yoga posture. You seem really content there.

• How you've recently discovered how to shake your head from side to side and you do this whenever you please and let me join in and we take turns.

• The pride you have when attempting to stand unsupported and the way you throw your arms up in the air and backwards after getting your balance and laugh to yourself before toppling over.

• How you grunt when you creep along the floor. You seem like you're working really hard and I really shouldn't laugh at you but I can't help myself.

• The way you giggle so hard when you find something really funny, like mummy sneezing or when daddy sings Giddy-up Horsey to you.

• The way you play with my fingers while you drink your bottle.

• The look of determination on your face when you see a tower than needs toppling.

• The funny humming sound that sometimes escapes your mouth when you are in the in between world of wakefulness and sleep.

• How you have learnt to place your blocks through a hole and to throw a toy after watching mummy. When you try to throw something you hold it high above your head, expecting it to jump out of your hand. When it doesn't you shake your hands wildly until your grips loosens. It's the sweetest thing!

• Your 'happy face' which consists of you squinting your eyes and scrunching up your nose and is occasionally accompanied by a snort.   

'

Worrying is like a rocking chair...

I'd be kidding myself if I thought I was the only parent on the planet to worry. I know deep down it's a fruitless thing but sometimes I'm a slave to my thoughts.

I have been wondering a lot lately about whether worrying is a fundamental trait ingrained in us all that is heightened by becoming parents.

Here are some of my nagging concerns:

• Leaving you on the floor to cry when I'm trying to prepare dinner. Will you think I don't love you because I am more engrossed in knives, vegetables and bubbling pots?
• Putting you in your high chair when I'm trying to prepare dinner. Is this time somehow going to stunt your growth developmentally?
• Being anal about cleanliness, to the point that I will listen to you cry and fuss until I've finished cleaning you, your high chair and the floor beneath it. 
• Putting you to down to bed before you show signs of being tired and leaving you to self settle.
• The fact that you've been slower to creep and sit than many other babies we know. 
• The cradle cap you have and the fact that it keeps recurring.
• The notion that you have two teeth already and I haven't introduced you to a toothbrush. 
• The dummy I gave you to help you sleep when you were little because I couldn't bare to listen to the sound of you crying. Now I'm too afraid to take it away.  
• The way I can be so engrossed in my phone when you're on your mat that you can fall over without me realising. Does this make me a negligent parent?

You've Come So Far

A lot of time has passed and you've recently reached 9 months of age. I can't remember the time I started referring to your age in months as opposed to weeks. I suppose it's around the time I stopped visiting so many specialists and started enjoying you, as opposed to obsessing over your stats and comparing them against those weight and length graphs in your little purple book. 

Is it a mother's instinct to worry or are some of us just worriers at heart? Either way, I can't help but feel I spent a large chunk of your first six months poring over how much milk you'd taken in and subsequently posited and whether it was in fact a floppy larynx or something else, which was responsible for your inability to keep down your milk. Adding to this, you were breastfed so I never knew whether you were taking enough milk or too much. I worried when you didn't gain weight and when you seemed to favour having your head facing the left. I became tired of all the contradictions in opinion that surrounded your 'little' self in those early months and because you seemed to loathe tummy time and were always being sick I now worry that your being slow to crawl is somehow linked to my not having giving you ample time on your tummy. 

If there's one thing you've inherited (let's hope it's not the worry gene!) it is (WAS!!) my tendency toward early rising. I've been an early bird as far back as I can remember. I love you to bits and really I DO want to see your chubby, smiley little face each morning, but if it appeared later than 5:30am then it would SURELY be greeted by the same smiley, happy faces (mine and Daddy's) as yours. 

A Stork Delivers

    

You came into the world on 22/06/2011 a day after daddy's birthday. I'd spent the last few months of my pregnancy playing the 'what if' game. What if I couldn't bond with you? What if I was struck down with PPD? What if you remained posterior and required a C-section delivery? I thanked my lucky stars when the labour was over and not one of those fears were realised. I remember feeling so alive when I saw you and heard you cry for the very first time. Despite the repeated internal exams and constant foetal monitoring which I'd not consented to and the second round of stitches required after a bungle with the first, I got some satisfaction out of delivering you drug free. In the end none of that really mattered though, because after 11 hours (much of which was spent in a kind of meditative trance) I finally got to meet you, the little person I'd been wondering about all this time. You were so lovely and not at all like the freakish alien babies from the birthing class movie which still haunt me to this day. I experienced a whole lot of emotions ranging from complete awe to utter contentment (but mostly a sense of holy heck! I am now responsible for the care of a tiny little person. Let's hope I'm up to the job.) We couldn't take our eyes off you your Daddy and I. We were as proud as punch.