EMail This Post
I try not to write too many posts about my kids toileting. Tempting as it is, I’d hate them to have to search out therapy aimed at kids whose parents excessively blogged about their toilet behaviour! You laugh, but I’m sure it’s out there somewhere - just a google search away!
Despite this, I feel compelled to share our progress along Little Bros’ road to toilet training. We started to discuss matters but until today he has seemed a little uninterested for my liking. I suspect, being boy, he was thinking - “What’s in this for me? Don’t they understand that nappies are so convenient!”
Today, in an effort to hasten things along, I bought a packet of chocolate freckles. As I packed the groceries away I had my back to them and I started to explain - “Now, I’ve got these chocolate freckles as a reward for Little Bro, if he does a wee or poo on the potty then he can have one”. Before I’d got all the words out I heard a scurrying behind me, I turned from my unpacking to see that Little Bro had pulled his pants down, flung his nappy across the room and was struggling onto the potty which Big Sis had retrieved from the bathroom at what must have been the speed of light.
As Little Bro sat, Big Sis negotiated. First she talked commission. Her argument was that she was crucial to the success of the whole plan and as key personnel should receive a reward at least equal to Little Bro. Then we talked numbers. She got me to agree to a freckle for each hand for a wee, and a freckle for each hand plus an extra one for the mouth for a poo!
Once finalised she cheered from the sidelines while Little Bro spent the next few hours producing wees and poos in the potty in unnaturally quick succession!
My advice to any parent looking at toilet training is simple, forget the books - just don’t spare the chocolate! Oh yeah, and never negotiate with terrorists or 4 year olds!
chocolate freckle, potty training, rewards
EMail This Post
I apologise for the lack of posts over the last little while. Each day has become an endurance event. I use the term “day” lightly, as really they are 24 hour cycles with no distinction between day and night. The problem is that there hasn’t been a period of longer than 3 hours where every family member has been asleep for the last month. You don’t have to be a Guantanamo Bay torturer to predict what this can do to parents mental state, but enough complaints!
Today I drove the kids into DSO’s place of work (or at least where he puts in half his time - before returning home when it really begins!). I might add it was more successful than the last time I drove in to “show the baby”. The baby in question (and I wont name names) pooed through 2 outfits and one baby car seat in the way in - so she had to greet fans dressed only in a nappy and singlet with suspicious yellow stains on her arms and legs!
Anyway, during the car trip 2 of the 3 kids fell asleep. I swear if had been all 3 I would have pulled over, locked the door and shut my eyes! As the child awake wasn’t so talkative I listened to some music and started thinking - why are all these songs about love before you become a grown up? Love, before you realise what it’s all about? You know the lyrics, mysterious strangers, time walking along beaches, the heartbreak when it doesn’t work out.
Come on song writers of the world - how about some lyrics for when it does work out? The love you feel when you return home from work and find your beloved in her tracksuit, covered in baby vomit, but retaining her sense of humour? Or the sense of deep connection when you see the your lover pace the room singing “Ba Ba Black-sheep” for the 20th time to the child in his arms?
How about when you know you picked the right one and that you have created people together (who’d have thought it possible?) Even the surge of passion when you go for your first post-partum grown up dinner and you sit opposite your lover in a nice restaurant with no one asking you to take them to the toilet and not having to remove the salt and pepper from the table.
I lay down my challenge to the song writers of the world - enough adolescent love lyrics, let’s hear about the real thing!
Baby, parenting, Sleep
EMail This Post
I used to be a girl who traveled light. I’d even avoid a handbag when going out at night by wearing clothes with enough pockets for a credit card, some cash and a lipstick.
Things have drastically changed as now I’m one of those mums with a double pram bigger than the average 4 wheel drive. It’s actually 3 wheeled, high of the ground, with an infinite number of recline positions for the kids, shopping baskets underneath and wallet and mobile phone pockets at the back.
Yesterday I did my first shopping and “gingerbread man” trip with all the kids and Dog in tow. It was like packing for a camping trip and it crossed my mind that really the twin stroller is a new urban assault vehicle. Here is a list of supplies:
- Dog lead
- Bags to pick up dog poo
- Change bag, complete with nappies for 2 size of children, wipes and nappy bags
- A change of clothes for the baby in case of enormous poo or vomit (have you noticed how often poo features on this list?)
- Hat, sunnies and sunscreen for Big Sis, Little Bro and me
- Water
- Snacks for kids including rice crackers and sultanas
- Colouring books, textas and a matchbox car for entertainment in cafe or when required
- Shopping list due to sleep deprivation short term memory problems
- Wallet, phone, keys
- Jackets/jumpers for all kids in case it gets cold
- Muslin cloth to protect baby from the sun
- Pegs to secure muslin cloth over pram
I swear if there was a national emergency we could just pull the urban assault vehicle over rig up the muslin cloth and sleep underneath, fully equipped until the situation passed.
Big Sis (who walks next to the pram these days) eyed the preparations but commented that we would be in trouble if baby needed some milk. She said - “We would have to stop and you would have to sit on the footpath and feed mummy!” Indeed we would Big Sis - until I can find a way to strap a fold-able breastfeeding chair to the circus - Indeed we would!
newborn, prams, wlaking with kids
EMail This Post
I promised a follow up on this issue - yes, we made it to the Park Hyatt! The baby was just 24 hours old and DSO, baby and I were in a hotel limousine cruising along the flower lined path towards our 5 star hotel.
I felt like Liz Hurley, Posh Spice or Madonna - post-partum and off to recuperate in style. Mind you, I bet I made a bigger dent in the room service menu than any of those girls!
The room was huge with a sitting area and enormous marble bathroom. Best of all it was circular so Little Bro could do lap, after lap after lap. The kids went crazy. They visited every day and we’d take them to the pool, then they’d come back and have a spa in the room - capping it off with a room service lunch (everything came with french fries of course!)
Big Sis in particular really took to the luxury. She told everyone she met about mummy and the “hospital/hotel”. I suspect some of our neighbours thought mummy had been admitted to some sort of private clinic!
Today Big Sis asked if I’d have another baby. When I asked why she responded immediately - ” I want to go back to the hospital/hotel!”. We all do Big Sis - but having another baby to get there is a false economy, trust me…
birth, hospital stay, maternity, park hyatt
EMail This Post
Birth stories come in all shapes and sizes. My only advice for my pregnant readers is to surround yourself with the happy ones! Here’s an uplifting story about the caesar delivery of a beautiful little boy. Take it away Bel!
The phone is ringing again. It is 3 days out from my elective caesar and the phone has been running hot with well wishers. Lovely and thoughtful I know, but the never ending barrage of questions such as “how do you feel?” and “are you excited?” were starting to get to me.
How do I feel? I was as nervous as hell and felt like every day was a marathon. Here I am 39 weeks pregnant, previously a fainter at the site (or mention) of blood and a first time Mum, facing my first trip to hospital since I was born. I was hardly embracing the thought of a caesar, or in fact any delivery of a baby whatsoever. Bub remained frank breech. There was no way I was pushing out a bottom first. At least I had time to “mentally” prepare for a caesar, as I was booked in 6 weeks in advance.
My intensive training for the caesar involved watching the Discovery Health Channel for any footage of caesars. I got braver at blood tests and engaged in some positive visualization exercises until I got bored with that and my thoughts wandered to what biscuits were in the cupboard. I now wished I had prepared more.
Am I excited? Well, I am having my first baby, what do people expect? I was in to “surprise minimisation” so elected to find out the gender as soon as we possibly could. We knew a baby boy was on the way. There are enough surprises with first time motherhood. Everything was ready. We had blue everything, a name chosen and so many hopes for our little boy.
I finally instructed husband that I was only talking to Mum if she called. In a daze of wanting to do a runner to Argentina and madly reassessing our choice of names, husband says “you better take this call, it is the hospital”. They were calling to confirm my admission details so it would be easy when I turned up for the birth of my baby. I was trying to stay very focused on the fact that it was ‘The Birth of My Baby’, not just a surgical procedure. This helped me immensely and I think made it a positive and non-threatening experience.
C-Day arrived. We had a 12 noon slot in theatre so were asked to come to the hospital at 10.30am. I was remarkably well rested. Husband and I had decided to have a ‘last supper’ the evening before so I consumed spicy Egyptian food and a glass of wine. I felt as if I were somewhat of a celebrity at the restaurant as people were staring at the obviously very advanced state of my belly. I ate as much as I possibly could as I knew I had to fast from 6 am the next morning. In fact, being as food obsessed as I am, this was making me even more anxious – how was I going to cope without breakfast? I woke at 9 am after 10 hours’ sleep. This was an absolute miracle and I attribute it entirely to that nice glass of chardonnay at dinner.
As we were driving to the hospital, I wondered how different I might feel if I were in labour. I expect things would be very different. I imagined what it might feel like to race from the and through the hospital foyer, charging towards the maternity wing. Instead, I kept a leisurely pace, drinking it all in, and was thrilled when I remembered I would leave with my baby son. My room was not ready so I was taken to the nursery. I think this was a very calming and positive thing as it again kept me very focused on the fact that I was having a baby. Husband was by my side as we sat there and looked at all the foreign objects scattered around the nursery and the breastfeeding poster on the wall.
I was ushered to my room after about 45 minutes, which was worth the wait, complete with water view. Unimportant of course, but a nice distraction all the same. The nurses started to come to check this and check that and ensure I was scrubbed and shaved and prepped and dressed in my lovely green hospital gown. As I stood in the shower and scrubbed my belly with the iodine soap, my mind was racing. It felt quite surreal. The mixture of nervous excitement, inevitability, with a large dose of fear was like nothing I had experienced previously. It was truly wonderful, not awful.
The anaesthetist came to discuss his plan. He had one of those lovely golden voices, so calming and reassuring, and matching salt and pepper hair to add to the degree of confidence I had. I felt as if I were in the most superior hands. The obstetrician breezed in for a last good luck. We were all set to go. Of course there is always the inevitable theatre delay. Another mum to be had decided to go in to labour at 32 weeks, so required an emergency caesar. She must have been feeling way worse than me.
Finally the theatre orderly arrived to collect me. As I was lying on the gurney being pushed along the corridor, I thought it was just like the movies. I was watching the down lights pass by above and felt like an impostor. I was completely capable of walking, so why did I have to lie down and be pushed like someone who was ill.
My first entry to an operating suite. My eyes were darting around, drinking in the activity while husband was taken to scrub up and put on his gown. The theater orderly informed me he was 17. He said it was so exciting I was having a baby. He proudly informed me his Mum had a baby boy two weeks previously and the joy was apparent on his face. He asked if I knew what I was having. “A boy” I informed him. He asked what his name would be but I said he would have to come back and find out later. He did.
The theater nurse then came along with her clipboard and checked my wrist tag, and other vital details to make sure I was actually supposed to be having a caesar. The questions felt like they went on forever. We finally made it to the anti-room of the theater. I could see my obstetrician preparing through the small glass porthole and was relieved to see a pleasant and familiar face. The theatre nurse inserted my cannula, which was slightly uncomfortable and had been a source of dread for me. I was running on adrenaline now. I was very focused on the fact that I was about to meet my little boy. Where the hell was husband? I did wish he was there as I was helped into a seated position for the spinal block. Another male theatre orderly arrived to help prop me forward as everyone was on notice I was a fainter.
Salt and pepper anesthetist assured me that the local anesthetic would not hurt while he joked about the fact that I was a lawyer. Where was that husband of mine? The local anesthetic stung and felt odd. I told the anesthetist he lied and we joked some more as he prepared the spinal. He told me to count to 10 and said that by the time I finished I would begin to feel numbness. I got to 3 and felt a warm surge like a dog was peeing on my legs. Another lie. 10 was a long way off and I was unable to move my legs by about 7.
Husband appeared as we went into the theatre, along with one of the midwifes we had previously met up in maternity. Again, a nice and timely reminder about why I was here – there was a baby coming very soon. It was bright and cold in theatre. The theatre staff introduced themselves and they took our birthing CD we had carefully chosen. The funky and dulcet tones soon filled the room and had the assistant surgeon bopping about. I lay there exposed as the obstetrician inserted the catheter and swabbed my belly with iodine again. I began to shiver uncontrollably. It was so cold and I felt sick. A mound of blankets soon arrived and the screen of green fabric was in place.
The obstetrician told me she was starting the incision. I felt ill again. Husband stroked my face and I tried hard to think about baby boy. The assistant surgeon started talking about the best place to get black and white film processed. I was momentarily cross as such an inane and irrelevant comment.
I feel tugging. It is not painful but it feels strange that someone is rearranging my internal organs. Before I knew it, the obstetrician said she could see the baby. So fast. I wanted to see him too. I strained to see my belly’s reflection in the stainless steel of the theatre light, but there was not enough detail. I had been warned to avoid this gruesome sight. Now I felt the complete opposite to how I thought I might. I wanted to know what was going on. The screen was lowered slightly and there he was, so chubby and beautiful and soft and crying ever so politely. A wave of relief took over along with exquisite contentment and happiness.
I lay there waiting for him to be weighed and APGAR checked in theatre, and returned to me. He landed on my chest and there he stayed while I was stitched. He looked just like he had in the 3D ultrasound, except in full glorious colour and smell and softness and beauty.
As I was wheeled to recovery I was in a daze. I looked around at some elderly patients still under general anesthetic and thought that I did not need to be here, surrounded by the sick. Luckily, recovery was not busy so it was possible for hubby and baby to come too along with the midwife. I had dreaded that post-caesar separation from baby. I made a special request the hospital were able to accommodate. Here we were in recovery, attempting the first breast feed. Baby lay on my chest and suckled upwards in search of nourishment. He clamped on and there he stayed. 3 vital sign checks later I was wheeled back to maternity, baby still suckling.
I could not wait to get up, eat a sandwich, phone family and friends. I wanted to embark on my new job without delay.
“Lets have another one soon” I say
birth story, caesar, guest post
EMail This Post
Consider for a moment the environmental footprint of a family of 5, with 3 of them under 5 years. On a good day it’s about the size of one from the abominable snowman! So, to assuage our conscience - and attempt to get our bins to close, DSO and I have invested in a worm farm.
The strange thing is that I am in equal parts drawn to, and repulsed by our little living compost factory. I love peeling the veggies and thinking - “Nope that’s not for the bin, the worms will get a great meal out of this! ” I also love the idea of our table waste fertilizing the garden.
However, I find the actual contents of the black box quite repulsive. I have to hold my nose when I feed them and brace myself to collect the liquid fertilizer that gathers in the bottom tray. I also fret about their diet - have they had too much banana peel today?
I often read about worm farms on the internet. This is not helpful as the material often focuses on problems…
To be honest, if our wormy friends become over run by slaters or vermin I think I’ll have to opt out. I’ll leave them on a street corner with a sign attached - “worm farm free to a good home”.
I can handle 3 children, 1 DSO, 1 dog and 1,000 worms but the vermin - they would just push me over the edge!
environment, family, recycling, worm farm
EMail This Post
1. That special new baby smell, where does it come from?
2. How impossibly soft and downy their heads are - you could sit all day with them cuddled into your neck floating in that new mum soup of hormones. Your baby is irresistible!
3. How much they sleep - yet ironically, how little they sleep when you need to sleep!
4. How perfect their tiny feet and hands are. How could they have grown inside of you? It is an everyday miracle.
5. How primed for survival they are - insistent in their demands and violent in their little tempers - if the tummy is empty they need food now!
6. How quiet it is in the middle of the night - the whole world asleep with your little baby looking up at you.
7. The violence of their gut as they gulp down sustenance and push it out either end in violent explosions!
8. The way they look at you and sniff at you, putting the world together, perceiving patterns and adding knowledge every day. Our baby girl now scrunches her little head down when she hears Little Bro running towards her shouting - “Kiss baby!”
9. How you can’t be apart from them - without a strange uncontrollable panic squeezing your heart!
10. How sleep deprivation affects short term memory - how many times today did I walk into the kitchen and then think, what am I in here for?
new baby, Sleep
EMail This Post
Big Sis takes after DSO and I, we are all “speak, think, speak” types (categorisation courtesy of personality testing at the hands of the corporate world). In laymans’ terms - we are talkers who don’t necessarily know where we are going when we start!
Big Sis can come into our bed at 2am and tell us about the dream she has just had - in real time. Last night it was a scary dream where Little Bro was trapped in her Kinder bag and as hard as she tried she couldn’t pull him out, this is an abbreviated description, hers goes for 20 minutes.
But, not only does she tell a mean (and long) story but she has the cross examination skills of a QC. She leads you along until you realised you are completely cornered.
This morning she was following a line of questioning about poo (a favorite topic) and asked DSO how mermaids do poos. DSO thinking on his feet responded - “Just like fish do”. Big Sis was back in a flash - “The fish we eat don’t do poos do they?”
How to answer this one while ensuring that she continues to eat fish? And the next one - “In the water we drink?” DSO will often call me later in the day to fill me in on the morning conversation cross-examination, just to make sure I corroborate his story!
kids questions, mermaids
EMail This Post
Running a household with a 4 year old, 2 year old and a newborn is, in one word, busy! I don’t mean - Oh I’m a bit busy because I’ve got a few things on my plate, I mean busier than I could ever have imagined!
The baby feeds every few hours. While doing this I’m also required to read stories, do puzzles and meter out hollow threats to little ones who take the opportunity to jump on the furniture or climb on stools to raid the fridge.
Babies are really labour intensive, so there is also changing, washing, settling and just cuddling. In between this Big Sis has an active social life of various engagements, dance class, Kindergarten, play-dates etc which require the organisation of a major conference just to get her there and back, with the baby, Little Bro and Big Sis.
Plus everyone has to be shopped for, and fed and Little Bro still needs some one on one time with his toys so he doesn’t miss out. The kids need to get out to the park to run about for a couple of hours every day and Dog needs the occasional walk otherwise he retaliates by getting into the garbage bins and barking just as the baby nods off. Kids need to be bathed every day and put in pjs and have stories read - always at the time the baby really wants some attention.
Even the small things like - the bins need to go out, or the groceries need to be put away have to be fit in somewhere. There are hours every day just picking things up and putting them back in place. Don’t even get me started on the volume of washing, drying and folding (I haven’t ironed for 3 years - I let that ball drop a long time ago…)
Fortunately love is the most amazing motivator - it’s all very Zen, you just have to ignore everything peripheral and get absorbed in the moment. It reminds me of going camping where the relaxation comes from being totally absorbed by the basics, food, shelter and structuring a day in what are adverse circumstances!
DSO and I have no time for anything at the moment except survival, and as we remarked the other night (across crying baby and yelling children) we got ourselves into this mess - so we better enjoy it! I just hope no-one is expecting me to answer the phone or return a call in the next 6 months!
busy, household organisation, newborn baby
EMail This Post
Check out the picture Big Sis drew (click on it to see the detail) - it really made DSO and I laugh! The large figure in the centre is Big Sis, she is standing next to the cake that she and Little Bro made (with the help of my wonderful sister) and bought into the hospital for Tertia. The figure on the right is Tertia. The tiny little figure on the far left is Little Bro!
The fact that DSO and I don’t figure is no accident - we are not relevant, and poor Little Bro is barely there! I suspect he is included for perspective - to show the relative importance of Big Sis and Tertia!
It’s a study in the ego-centrism of a 4 year old! It also shows how Big Sis has reacted to a baby in the house. She loves her little sister and shows no jealousy. I think she just wishes we’d all go away and let her get on with the most important job of all - big sister!
big sister, kids art, new baby, sibling rivalry
I'm Leisa - a thirtysomething woman, living in Australia. My immediate family consists of a daughter (Big Sis 4 years), a son (Little Bro 2 years), a baby girl(Tertia), husband (or Darling Significant Other - DSO) and a dog. In a past life I had a "big job" in the "real world" as a corporate lawyer. These days I live in a different dimension - I'm "down with the kids".
