I’m writing a book on my phone

The subtitle of this post should be: “How parenting a high needs child is completely at odds with being a writer”. I made the excuse a while ago that I hadn’t been blogging because I was busy transcribing my granddad’s memoirs. And that was true, a while ago. I got to the end of the first 90-minute recording which equated to about 10,000 words, and discovered that the other three even longer recordings are barely intelligible. I scoped out some software to fix the sound quality (turns out we already had it on the computer). But before I could do anything, the Dude decided to mix things up a bit. No more going down for sleeps! Therefore no more uninterrupted showers and no more computer time. We soon got the stroller on his first birthday so I’m now taking him for walks every day and he usually sleeps then. I’m pretty sure this is some kind of premature transition to one sleep a day. And he’s close to walking and talking, plus his molars are due any time now. So I can forgive him for being out of sorts.

The problem is, I can’t sit at the computer to write for more than ten minutes. He hates it! And that’s fair enough, in basically ignoring him. But the fact remains that I no longer get any writing time. I’m writing this on my phone. It’s frustratingly slow as I’m a touch typist so can more or less type fast enough to keep up with my brain.

I know this may be a short period, and it’ll pass soon enough, but I’m finding it very frustrating. I must have a dozen posts half written in draft, and all these ideas punching me in the head every day but I just don’t get any opportunity to write.

How do others tackle this? I guess the majority of people have babies who actually fall asleep fairly predictably.  Babies that calm down and relax when given a bedtime routine and lots of milk. Babies that don’t smack you across the head and then laugh within two minutes of waking up.

So instead of wallowing in misery (not really, slight exaggeration there), I’m going to think positively about this. Perhaps I’ll be the first person to write a 50,000 book entirely on a hand-held mobile device!  Imagine what Dickens or Tolstoy would think about that!  They’d probably think it was nonsensical and ridiculous. Aside from being confused as to how one can write a book on something the size of your palm. Technology is pretty cool, let’s face it, and I can safely say my iphone (actually Samsung Galaxy SII now) has saved my sanity millions of times while I lie for hours trying to get the Dude to stay asleep.

But the fact remains, parenting has gotten in the way of my writing, my passion.  And it’s not just general parenting, it’s the kind of child I have, his personality, mixed with the way I’ve chosen to parent.  Oh God, should I really say it, should I really attach that term to myself? Shit, I think I already did. Yes, Attachment Parenting.  I’d never heard of it until after I had the Dude, and frankly I thought it was all a bit of a wank.  Not the principles of AP per se, those make sense, but more that people are yet again being sheep and just going with a certain theory or way of doing things.  Of course many so-called AP parents will tell you that they just do what comes naturally and have fallen into the AP category.  I’m one of those.  And I actually refute the assertion that I’m AP.  It’s a label. We know how I feel about those.

I had the Dude at home, as readers of this blog may be aware, and I had no interventions in pregnancy and birth.  Well actually that’s a lie, I had three ultrasounds (all of them completely unnecessary) but yeah, no real interventions.  I’ve still never been to hospital in my life, apart from when I was born.  I plan on keeping it that way!  I don’t vaccinate my son, never been done myself actually. He has only ever drunk breastmilk and water.  We know about nutrition and natural ways of helping the body thrive. We don’t take drugs like paracetamol and ibuprofen. We like homepathics and they work for us.  Dude enjoys the ergo regularly, and previously enjoyed the Hugabub and even a ring sling for a short time. We generally like to avoid regular mainstream doctors as our experience has been that they have little idea what they’re talking about and recommend toxic chemicals that just cover up symptoms and don’t help the body heal. Oh and we co-sleep.  Now I’m sure I’ve said before, co-sleeping was not really my plan.  I was totally against it when my midwife first mentioned it, but once the Dude was here it was the only way I ever managed any sleep.  He’s a crazy dude.  His cot has been side-carted to our bed for the last nine months but he’s pretty much never slept in it.  Occasionally he’ll squirm into it half asleep and pass out there, usually with half his body still on the bed. But generally speaking, he is right next to me; taking up half the bed to himself. He’s beautiful and I love having him right there but I would LOVE to have my own bed again.  I am very touch sensitive and find it hard to be comfortable with someone right up next to me.  I even push my husband away when I’m going to sleep sometimes.  I like my space.  Which was the whole reason I had an issue with co-sleeping in the first place.

Anyway, because of this attachment style parenting we practise, and because the Dude is so full on, I don’t get a lot of time to myself. Now let’s be clear here: if I was into letting the Dude cry it out and leaving him in bassinets to go slowly insane or fobbing him off to childcare centres, I’d be in a worse situation.  Yes, okay, we might have more money because I might actually earn some, but the Dude would be miserable, we’d be sleep deprived and he’d probably be sick a lot. I’m sure about my choices. And I’m not asking for sympathy for them or for my predicament. I just think it’s ironic that I slacked off for so many years, sat around watching Seinfeld repeats and eating Sarah Lee Honeycomb and Butterscotch icecream instead of writing my heart out when I had the chance.  Things will change. This will pass. Before I know it this little crazy blonde dude currently sitting on the floor next to me destroying daddy’s uni notes will be asking for lifts to concerts and sneaking vodka from our liquor cabinet like we wouldn’t notice half a bottle of it slowly but regularly disappearing. The old ‘evaporation’ explanation never worked.

The thing about co-sleeping

I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that the Dude sleeps with me and Mr Chewbacca and has done since he arrived. It’s not really an ideal situation for me at least because I can’t spread out in bed, can’t really turn over and get way too hot. But it is our only option.

People probably think I’m crazy or a tree-hugging hippy or just not a good parent when they find out we all sleep together. It’s not viewed as okay in mainstream society today. I’m not really sure why, given it’s a lot more logical than a baby sleeping alone, but I guess these days people have this idea that independence is everything. So it’s totally acceptable for a mum to spend at least 8-10 hours five days a week away from a baby over the age of a couple of months. People don’t seem bothered by babies not being with their mums. Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me but then again most aspects of mainstream society are questionable in my opinion. We seem to think that a baby growing fast, developing early, becoming an adult as soon as possible is this amazing achievement. I guess it stems from the general awareness that the job of parents is to get children to adulthood, so faster is better somehow.

These days, instead of people just saying, oh, right, your baby doesn’t sleep alone, that’s how things are for you, everyone’s different, they are so judgemental about it, like it’s some awful sin or big mistake. People are terrified of children becoming clingy. It’s bizarre to me because children are supposed to be clingy, it’s how it works, this parent-child bond. There’d be something seriously wrong if a child didn’t ever want his mum, yet there is apparently some invisible limit on just how much and how often he’s allowed to want mum. At sleep time, this limit becomes more rigid.

Let’s backtrack here: when I was having prenatal visits with the midwife, we talked about sleep and  how and where baby would sleep. I point blank refused to entertain the idea of cosleeping. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the  practicalities of it. I’ve always loved my sleep, so the idea of a baby right next to me wasn’t thrilling as I knew it would be difficult to really relax.

In addition, I had judgements about people who let their children sleep in their beds. I laugh when I think about it now. A very close friend had a baby, ten years ago now, and I distinctly remember going to her place when he was probably around the age the Dude is now. I noticed she had her son sleeping with her and her partner and I was really shocked and scathing in my comments about it, not to her face of course. I remember remarking to a very close mutual friend how weird it was that our friend let her son sleep with her and putting it down to her just being a crazy hippy. Why would you do it, I thought.

Fast forward ten years and I must be one crazy hippy! But here’s the thing: while I’m totally cool with cosleeping and mums who choose to do it until whenever the kid wants his own space, I am not doing it because I planned to, and I’m not doing it because I love it. I’ll admit, the Dude is very sweet sometimes sleeping next to me, and now he’s bigger and more huggable it’s sometimes nice to cuddle him. I’ve never been concerned about his breathing or rolling into his front or whatever. And I very quickly learnt how to sense him waking and how to get him in positions where it’s comfy for both of us, or relatively so. But given the option, I’d put the Dude in his cot. Let’s face it though, he is 9 months, he will still wake for a feed or two. Or he would, if he were a normal baby.

But our little Dude is one crazy ass mofo, as his dad would say. He’s actually been asleep in his cot perhaps four or five times ever. And he’s not lasted more than half an hour or so every time. This is the cot that is sidecarted to our bed, so he’s literally 30cm or one roll away from me. He’s fallen asleep without boobie or being in a carrier perhaps three or four times ever, and it’s never lasted more than five or ten minutes.

I’m sure people don’t believe me when I explain just how full on he is. This is a child who screams blue murder the moment you put him down to sleep, even if he’s fallen asleep in arms or I’m staying right next to him. I read all this stuff about patting and singing babies to sleep but that’s rarely worked for him. I did manage to pat him back to sleep in the middle of the night when he was about 5 months, but it only happened a handful if times. If I try it now he just screams louder and doesn’t respond to my touch. Some babies fall asleep in their mothers’ laps with a bit of rocking or just holding. Not Dude. He occasionally falls asleep in my arms while feeding if he’s dead tired but he’ll sleep for maybe half an hour then wake crying because he’s still tired but won’t fall back to sleep. He refused dummies, just spots them out or plays with them. He’s not interested in soft toys or blankets or clothes that smell like me or gristmill to comfort. You may as well put a block of I’ve next to him, that’s how much comfort he derives.

I am good at rocking babies, being as quiet and peaceful as possible, singing relaxing songs. I think my techniques would work with other babies. The Dude is the true definition of high needs. And any other person wouldn’t be able to deal with him and stay sane. There’s no way we could have done anything differently to have him sleeping in his cot. Unless I’m willing to get up every half hour, which I’m not. I know it’ll pass, but yeah, I’ll be so glad when I don’t have to cosleep any more!

Nearly 8 months

It’s funny. Eight months doesn’t seem like a very long time, but for the little Dude it’s a lifetime.  And because my life has changed so much since he arrived, it’s a lifetime for me too.  He is now sitting up by himself, having just randomly done it one day a few weeks ago.  We’re now in a stage I didn’t expect where we wait for him to sit himself up, then place pillows strategically around him in case he falls backwards or to one side, which he’s done many times.  Without pillows he’d just fall and hit his head on the ground, and even with the carpet under him it’s still a shock and probably hurts.  He’s tall too so he has further to fall.  I shudder to think how hard it’s going to be monitoring him when he’s learning to walk!  It’s nice now he can sit because it gives him more to do and he can play alone for longer without getting frustrated, although he still puts himself on his tummy and then starts screaming like he’s a beached whale and can’t move, it’s really weird.  That’s usually an indicator that he’s tired.

Speaking of tiredness, sleeping has been reasonably challenging recently.  He sleeps well at night, generally right the way through, but that’s only because he’s right next to me and can have boobie whenever he wants.  Some nights I’m sure he sleeps right through without even a dream feed, but other nights he gets restless at 4am and will toss and turn and feed on and off for an hour or more, which can be a bit annoying, but not the end of the world.  I’ve not had to get up with him in the night, so I think that’s quite good.  He still has a really hard time actually getting to sleep, especially for naps, of which he has two during the day.  Or at least I try to ensure he has two, and preferably for two hours each, although that rarely happens.  Not that he doesn’t need it, he so desperately needs more sleep, but he just can’t wind down and stay asleep.  Recently he’s been dozing off still attached for an hour or so, and then when I think I might be able to detach him and creep away he wakes and starts smiling and playing even though his eyelids are drooping and it’s clear he needs more sleep and will probably scream because he’s tired in about half an hour… So my life these days consists mainly of trying to get the Dude to a) sleep and b) stay asleep, which he rarely does without me for more than about 45 minutes.  There have been occasions where he’s slept alone for an hour or even two, but those are extremely rare, so rare they’re just flukes I think.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this child is freaking intense!  But I guess I shouldn’t have expected much else, given how his dad is, and the family history of insomnia on both sides… the poor little dude doesn’t stand a chance really!  Sometimes he’s thrashing about so much I wonder how it’s possible for him to ever fall asleep, but it happens, and when he finally relaxes deeply after a couple of hours he will sleep pretty soundly, or at least I think that’s the case, I don’t remember being awake to find out!

Of course he’s massive, as usual.  He’s actually off the growth chart all together in terms of his height/length, which at 7 months sat at 75cm (haven’t measured recently so not sure, he’s probably grown since).  He was just shy of 10kg at 7 months, and that’s the 97th percentile or thereabouts.  We’re predicting he’ll be at least 6’5″, as his dad is 6’3″ but I’m convinced his mum’s lack of prenatal care and his terrible infant nutrition contributed to him being slightly smaller, as his dad is 6’5″.  I also think his strange eyesight (being very short-sighted only in one eye, discovered when he was four) and his odd digestion are related to that too.  But that’s just what I think.  Anyway, the Dude is huge and thriving, of course, despite my ignoring the stupid doctor and not plying him with iron fortified rice cereal made with formula!  Speaking of the doctor, I’ve decided I’m never going back to her, as every time she just disappoints me, doesn’t help me, doesn’t listen to me, and says really annoying things.  I’m going to try a new anthroposophical doctor I’ve discovered nearby and heard good things about, so we’ll see what happens there.  I’m curious about what she’ll say about his skin.

Speaking of the Dude’s skin, it isn’t fantastic.  I know it’s definitely constitutional and something his body has to work through, but I feel that there is more I could do for him.  Sometimes it’s really quite bad and cracks a little around his right wrist and both ankles.  He seems to have more on the right side than the left, which just helps confirm its constitutional nature.  His skin on his bum is perfect, which was a real mystery for a while there, until I was bathing him and my mum was here and she suddenly suggested that having the nappy on was actually helping the skin retain its moisture, and so it’s a simple case of the skin being unable to retain moisture.  That makes so much sense, given how much worse his skin got when we were in (dry) Melbourne, as Sydney is so humid most of the time.  Husband said it makes sense to him as he actually has extra dry skin and has done for as long as he can remember and that’s why he slathers himself in cocoa butter every morning.  So now we have a bit more insight into what’s actually occurring with the skin, and when it was really bad I did relent and apply a little cortisone cream which of course cleared it up very quickly, but I’m really not keen to put it on all the time because I know all its doing is suppressing the immune response, which is just a quick temporary fix and not a long term solution, plus it’s not something I want to do.  The immune system is working, that’s good, I don’t want to block it.  So we’ll see what the anthroposophical doc says and go from there.  At some level I feel I could do more with my diet, but I just haven’t got the commitment; sad but true.  So his skin has red, dry patches around his wrists and ankles, and a few bits behind his knees, up his lower arms and under his chin, although it changes slowly.

Anyway, as far as other developments go, he’s really moving around a lot, although not technically crawling yet.  He can get up on his hands and knees briefly and rock a bit, but generally he sort of pulls himself along with his arms, and pushes off with his feet.  He’s still really shaky and it’s very scary watching him try and sit and pull himself up.  Because he’s pretty tall he can see over the coffee table, and earlier today I turned around for a minute only to turn back and find him about to pull a ceramic bowl of Christmas chocolates onto his head!  It’s pretty awful when he falls backwards or sideways and he’s already had a few bumps on the head but we just do our best to keep cushions around him or be down on the floor with him and always watching.  He’s extremely strong – I’m currently watching him pull a dining chair towards him across the floor with one hand… and yes, that’s a metal framed chair, quite heavy!

He’s recently begun saying ‘mum mum mum mum’ and ‘dthe dthe dthe’, and he also says what sounds like ‘yeah’, in addition to his ‘ngeng’ and ‘geh’.  He laughs and responds to peekaboo and tickling, makes his mini Chewbacca noise, screeches loudly for no reason in particular, and cries out of frustration ALL the time.  His eating is pretty good, I think.  We’ve been doing combination baby-led solids, so I often give him big chunks of fruit to eat straight off his tray table in the high chair, which he is very capable of doing.  Today he polished off about three quarters of a whole nectarine (his favourite).  I’m holding back on all the nightshades – tomatoes, potatoes, capsicum, eggplant – as well as citrus and other allergenic fruits like strawberries.  I’m sure he’d be fine with all of that, but it’s more about getting his body used to eating before we make it work extra hard to process this kind of food.  He eats rusks which have a tiny bit of milk and wheat in them and so far is fine with it, but that’s as much as I’ve given him of those two things.  He has also eaten a few crusts as well.  Other than that, I spoon feed him a bit, usually with an organic veggie, fruit, millet mix I get from the supermarket.  I’m a bit slack with making him food, and he loves the stuff in the packet and it’s completely natural and all organic and free of additives etc so I figure it’s all good.  We’ve discovered that, like daddy, he hasn’t got a sweet tooth, so he likes his nectarines much more than something like mango, which would be my preference.  He’s amazing with the nectarine actually.  I cut him off slices like little boats, and he eats the flesh and spits out the skin.  At first I was worried and was going to peel it but there’s really no need, he’s very capable of eating just the flesh.

So far he still doesn’t suck on a dummy, although I give it to him when we go to sleep.  He does like it to chew on and play with, but when it’s time to sleep he will get upset if I put the dummy in his mouth.  He doesn’t accept substitutes!  At some level it’s as though he knows it’s just not the same.  He’s like that with everything actually.  I’m sure he understands what I’m saying most of the time.  He looks at me so intently, listens to everything I say, and responds accordingly.  He has known his name for months now, and will always respond, even if it’s to just give a cheeky look and go back to whatever havoc he was wreaking.  Although usually he’ll pay attention and actually turn back, as though he knows exactly what I’ve said and is doing just what I’ve asked.  It’s pretty amazing.

Anyway, at the moment, five days off eight months, he is just about to crawl, beginning to say words, and just turning into an amazing little boy.  I wish he’d sleep by himself as I’d love to be able to stretch out in bed again and go to sleep and wake up whenever I want, but I know it will pass and eventually he will sleep in his own bed.  For the moment, he is how he is, and he is just perfect.

The Melbourne dream is rippling and shifting

Like in the Matrix when things begin to bend and twist impossibly, my Melbourne dream is a little shaky all of a sudden. I’m not sure what I want.

It happened when I agreed to head down to Melbourne for the first time since the Dude was born. At first I suggested that going for a holiday would be like teasing me, showing me yet again how great life in Melbs could be and then making me come back to horrible old Sydney. But I realised I wanted to catch up with all my friends and so I plucked up the courage and went.

I stayed Thursday night with a friend who I used to live with in London, then Friday and Saturday with another friend I used to live with in Canberra, then back to my London friend’s place on Sunday night and home Monday. It was great being there, the cooler, dryer climate feels much more me, and it was so great to see friends again. Even the public transport feels so much less stressed and more organised than Sydney.

But something began to twist out of place as the days went on. Something was off. It wasn’t just because I had the Dude with me and he is a handful at the best of times, neither was it any change in me or my mind. But without me having any part in it, something shifted. I felt an odd harsh reality, like I’d idealised Melbourne somewhat. And I really missed husband, I think in his role as partner and as father. I guess a number of little things niggled at me: my ex-London friend’s house was quite cold and a little noisy; and my ex-Canberra friend is so enjoying her freedom with her boyfriend and no kids or real responsibilities.  I don’t fit in there as well as I thought I did.  Or, to be more precise, home isn’t just a physical place.  I knew this before, but sometimes it takes an experience to really get it.

The first house I stayed in is quite lovely, although not something I’d buy or live in. The aspect is terrible so it doesn’t warm up, and the layout is a bit weird. In addition, the train track is over the back fence. It really is a nice place, though, renovated so well by my friend and her husband, but just not me. But I guess you sacrifice space and noise for a prime south east position. I had a great catch up with my friend, let’s call her Robyn, even though I’m not sure I like the area too much, despite being walking distance to Carlisle St and Chapel St, funky little shops and cafes. I find it a little too exposed and in the thick of it, but I know that’s why my friend loves it, she wants to be where the action is and would probably go stir crazy in the suburbs. She has a baby six weeks younger than the Dude and a very different parenting style and philosophy from me, however that doesn’t stop us enjoying hanging out and discussing parenting, swapping ideas and hopes and fears.

The other friend I stayed with, let’s call her Spanish Queen (though she’s neither Spanish nor regal), lives in the north eastern suburbs. It seems more secluded there, slightly further out of the city but still close enough to anything you’d need. Her place, again, while beautiful and perfect for her and her partner, is not somewhere I’d live. It’s a little small, no real yard, and can get quite cold. I’m a big fan of the old passive solar. The bed was ridiculously comfy though and the Dude was clearly more comfy as he slept past 11am! We had a quiet night Friday then on Saturday night SQ invited a few of our other mutual friends round and we had a lovely meal at home with plenty of catching up. I had to take the Dude off to bed about 10 so I said goodnight and SQ said she was going to meet up with her partner (let’s call him King Henry) out somewhere but vowed “I won’t be late”. I didn’t mind either way as we were off to bed. About 1:30am I heard them come home, and stumble into bed. Then at 2:30am I woke to a loud knocking and banging on the front door. SQ’s house is a bit of a fortress so I knew if they’d locked themselves out there was no way they’d get in. I couldn’t understand why they’d come home and gone back out again but I got up to let them in. It was SQ alone, absolutely smashed, looking totally confused about why I was at the door. She’d taken a taxi home but somehow had no money to pay for it! She tottered in like someone with early onset Parkinson’s, and rummaged in her wallet which was lying on the counter, only to find no money. Her scarf and bag and keys were strewn around the kitchen. “Just pay with a card,” I said, but she was adamant that wasn’t to happen. The huge burley African cab driver was getting impatient standing in her driveway. I heard her trying to wake KH: “There’s a man at the front door and he’s really angry, he wants money!” I heard her implore, only to be met with disinterested groans; there was no way KH was going to be roused from his drunken slumber. Out tottered SQ again, getting a bit more flustered. She glanced around the kitchen and spied a bottle of Shiraz someone had brought for dinner. Grabbing it off the bench and waving it above her head she called to the now furious taxi driver, “will you take a bottle of wine?” He politely refused. It was at that point, with her apologising to both me and the driver while rummaging through a jar of change that I went back to bed. I lay there thinking, what the hell am I doing here? I want to go home.  Now with the Dude I feel really weird when people are drunk or rowdy around him, like it’s fundamentally wrong and I just want to be elsewhere, take him away.

Of course when I relayed the story back to the two hangover victims (neither had any recollection), it was hilarious and didn’t seem too big a deal but at the time I didn’t want any part of it.  I kind of felt momentarily angry at my friend for being so drunk and crazy at her age, with all her responsibilities, but it was really silly of me to react that way.  The fact is, she’s got no kids, and that’s how she likes it.  Anyway, the rest of the trip was quite lovely, going for long walks and having some catch ups with various friends.  I realised though that even though one of my friends, SQ’s sister, is pregnant now and people are settling down, at some level I don’t necessarily just fit in with all of them and their lives.  They are still very different in terms of their values and beliefs and the way they are living their lives.  I think before I was somehow a bit blinded by this idealised view of a Melbourne life and was thinking of it in terms of hanging out with those people all the time, when really it’s not what it seems.  I was a bit disappointed by SQ’s sister actually, as she was generally disinterested in talking about her pregnancy and anything relating to it, and at one point declared she didn’t want ‘unsolicited advice’.  Another post coming on that subject.  Suffice it to say, they are very different from me, and I can’t allow my rose coloured glasses to give me false impressions of what life there might be like for us.  I have to think about me and my family and what works best for us as a unit as well as individuals.

When I came home, I was very glad to be here, despite the fact that it is Sydney!  And oddly enough, Sydney put on some cold weather upon arrival, just for me!  There’s still a lot more thinking to be done about our final move, and while I still hate Sydney and don’t want to settle here, Melbourne may not necessarily be the home of choice.

Have child, will travel

After numerous heated discussions and difficult exchanges, husband suggested I go to Melbourne and just chill out with friends for an extended weekend.  At first I was reluctant, thinking about how hard the flight would be with the Dude, who just doesn’t do the comfort feeding thing and doesn’t just fall asleep, but I finally agreed to go and booked some flights on Qantas.  Luxury!  Normally we fly dodgy Tiger but with the Dude I wasn’t taking any chances, and besides, it wasn’t actually much more expensive.  I booked an 11am flight out on the Thursday, thinking that would be cruisy, and a 4pm flight home on the following Monday.  But it wasn’t to be so cruisy!

Firstly, about a week beforehand, husband revealed that he’d volunteered for a day out accompanying some deaf kids into the city to the Botanic Gardens and on the ferry etc. Which is lovely, except it happened to be the day I was due to fly to Melbourne.  And he had to be at the school by 8:30am.  In North Parramatta.  An hour’s drive away.  And my flight was booked for 11am.  Urgh.  We discussed the possibility of him bailing out, but he’d already saved the day as someone else had pulled out and I thought it would be pretty slack to bail at the last minute like that.  So after discussing the possibilities – him taking public transport to North Parramatta (erm, that’s like having a death wish!), me taking public transport to the airport (erm, again, a bit of a death wish, given I’d have the baby and my wheely bag), me taking a taxi to the airport (for $70? Hmm, think again) – and finally settled on a plan.  He dropped me in the city at about 7:45 and I strapped the Dude to my chest, put my nappy bag in my wheely bag, and took the airport line straight through from St James – easy!

A few things to explain here: I decided not to bother with taking a pram as the Dude isn’t a fan and I can’t fathom how one person can possibly handle a wheely bag and a pram at the same time.  Seriously.  How is that possible??  The other thing is that I don’t own a nappy bag.  My nappy bag consists of a rather tatty Target ‘green’ bag.  I have the material at home, just haven’t gotten round to making one, and there’s no way I’m spending $100 on a proper one, what a total rip off!  Plus I’m not a fan of carting round a whole bunch of shit just because I have a baby.  Sometimes I take a nappy and wipes, occasionally a change of clothes, a hat, socks… that’s about it.  So anyway, all I had was my modest wheely bag, my handbag and the Dude strapped to me in the Ergobaby.

The train trip through to Sydney airport’s Qantas domestic terminal was a breeze.  Fast, easy, simple.  The only drawbag is being subjected to extortion when you pay $15 for a ten minute train journey!  Freaking rip off!  But that’s Sydney for you… Anyway, I got there, decided to check my bag, and was impressed with how easy it was despite the fact that Qantas seem to have now gotten rid of actual people to check you in and you do the whole thing yourself: check in and print off your boarding pass and bag tags, attach your own bag tags, then drop off your bags yourself.  Pretty cool really.

I headed through security and grabbed a bacon and egg muffin at Hungry Jacks and a big veggie juice at the food place next to it – yum!  I found a nice seat facing out over the tarmac, finished my food and drink and gave the Dude a feed.  I had a couple of hours still before my flight at 11am, and I planned to get him to have a decent sleep so he’d be cool for the flight.  It was great, I strapped him to my back, then grabbed a coffee, then found a bench and stood rocking him while crocheting and sipping my coffee, too easy!  At 10:40 I went to board my flight; and that’s when things started to go awry.

The flight was delayed 25 minutes, so boarding at 11:05.  I kept walking round with the Dude, gave him another feed… It was 11:30 and we still hadn’t boarded.  Finally we all filed on.  Apparently the flight before had been late in.  I was beckoned to the front and slipped on board first, which was brilliant.  My seat was right at the back and the one next to me was empty, perfect!  The male and female flight attendants immediately flocked to me and took the Dude, who was happy to hang out with them, a total miracle, as normally he screams as soon as I pass him to someone else, unless it’s daddy.  This was going well! And then we sat on the tarmac.  For an hour!  The Dude got restless.  The lovely male flight attendant brought him some baby food, awful artificial Heinz vanilla custard (I read the label enough to notice the second ingredient was ‘sugar’ and then pretended not to notice), which the Dude of course absolutely loved and ate about a third of the tin!  But we weren’t flying anywhere on this plane it seemed, and were soon asked to disembark as the flight had been cancelled due to electrical problems.  I filed out with everyone else and stood in line for 10 minutes whereupon we were booked onto a 3pm flight.  Hmph.

Anyway, eventually we did fly out on the 3pm flight, but sadly the attendants on this flight weren’t of the calibre of those on the first and basically ignored me the whole time.  The Dude had had enough by this point and promptly screamed the plane down for most of the flight, even though I tried to soothe him by walking around and feeding (it only worked for the first 15 minutes during take off).  I finally arrived in Melbourne at 4:35pm and had to wait for my friend to pick us up as because of the delay she was stuck in traffic!  What an ordeal!

Some general observations about flying:

• Baby change area at the airport? This had to be the most impractical place to change a baby, unless the baby in question is completely covered in poo and you need to give him a bath to clean him up… Where is the bit you change them on? I really do need to invest in a portable change mat, as the changing area consisted of a narrow, hard metal bench.
• People that work at Sydney airport – really, this is your career? Reminds me why I want to leave Sydney!  I watched people working behind counters and in shops and thought, damn, what a way to live, how boring and average.  Yes, I am a cynic.  And a snob.
• Are people really that lovely and helpful when you’re travelling with a baby? Some, yes, but judging by the stupid article I read in the Age about flying with a baby, some are just callous assholes who probably wouldn’t have the guts to say to your face what they’d say in an online comment.
• There is a huge difference depending on the flight attendants.  I guess they see a million babies complaining on flights every day, but it made SUCH a difference to have those lovely flight attendants on that first flight.  I personally thanked them both before getting off the plane, and the female flight attendant came up to me in the airport after we got off the first plane to check if I’d been successfully rebooked and commiserate.  So nice.
• Some people are tolerant and understand just how embarrassing and stressful it can be when your baby is screaming and you just can’t do anything.  As I sat waiting to get off the second flight to Melbourne, waiting for everyone to get off first, a smiling guy in a suit leaned down to me and said, “don’t worry, we’ve all been there before”.  I smiled.  Thanks man, I really needed to hear that.

My conclusion? Having kids and participating in mainstream society do not exist in the same dimension! But what’s new right?  All I know is, I did it, I took a flight alone with my baby and it was all good.  In fact he slept for the majority of the flight home – miracle or what!  I can’t say I’ll be doing it again in a hurry but at least now I know I can.

Don’t cry for me little dude

Image via Wikipedia

I’ve found myself making up songs for the little Dude, to distract him either while we’re driving or while I’m changing him.  They’re just regular songs and I modify the lyrics to suit the situation.  Here’s one I sang today:

(to the tune of ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina’, imagining Madonna singing from a balcony)

Don’t cry for me little Dude

The truth is I’ve never left you

All through this journey

Down to the airport

I’ve kept my promise

Wish it was cut short…

Today I sang this at the top of my voice over and over as the little man cried all the way from the Kings Cross tunnel to the airport because the stupid Eastern Distributor was jammed for no freaking reason.  Of course, because traffic jams in Sydney are never caused by anything.  It’s just like the government sends out some kind of subliminal mind control signal and suddenly everyone within 500 metres of a tunnel decides to go 20km per hour.  Either that or Sydney is the worst planned city in the universe.  Poor little Dude, he doesn’t deal with being in the car if it’s not going or if he’s hungry.  Today it was the former, but on the way home it was the latter, although recently, since his about-face at the beginning of the week, he cries just because he’s not being held or having attention paid to him.  As soon as I get him out of the car he stops.  It’s kind of nice that I can have that effect on him.

One month on

I can’t believe it’s been a whole month since the little dude’s birth.  It’s been longer than a month actually, but this is the first time I’ve had two hands and enough time to sit down and write a blog post.

The first week I more or less didn’t move from the bed, under strict instructions of the midwife.  I think I probably went out to the lounge two or three times in total.  It was great though, being waited on during that time!  Husband of course ran himself ragged, forgot to eat or look after himself in any way.  My mum stayed for the first three days, then headed home to give us a few days just the three of us before husband had to go back to work.  It’s funny, that first week is something of a blur now.  It was nice knowing the midwife would come every day and I could chat to her about the baby and the birth and everything in between.  There was so much to learn!  In fact the whole thing is a massive learning curve.

I don’t really remember which day I finally went out of the house, but it was really only out the front door to give the little guy some sun as he had a fair bit of physiological jaundice.  The milk came in about day 3 – I was sitting on the bed chatting to a couple of friends who I’d planned to meet up with that night but obviously couldn’t head to the city, so they came to me.  And as I fed him, suddenly I began to leak milk from the other breast!  It was quite a surprise but pretty cool, nice to know things were happening as they should.  That night things really ramped up!  I got a fever, and my boobs swelled and were so hot and tender, it was crazy.  I took a really hot shower before bed and then crawled in shivering, which is really unlike me as usually I’m too hot.  But I wasn’t too concerned, as I knew this was what happens when the milk arrives.  That night was pretty uncomfortable and sweaty and fussy, and the baby was the same, just sticky and feeding furiously but feverishly.  I think we still had the heater on in those early days, so the room was warm and the air was dry, not a great combination.  It had settled down by the next day, and although I was still full, I was no longer painfully engorged and I only had sore nipples to deal with.

Speaking of breastfeeding, it hasn’t been the biggest challenge of all.  It’s been painful and confusing and a little difficult at times, definitely time-consuming, but overall I’ve managed pretty well I think.  I realise I’ve learnt a fair bit about breastfeeding.  I must admit it still pisses me off to read all this shit about how breastfeeding is an art, how you have to learn it, bla bla bla, it doesn’t come naturally.  WTF?!  It’s natural!  Why are we perpetuating this ridiculous myth about how much of a challenge breastfeeding is just because so many women are so out of touch with their bodies and nature that they need to feel validated about finding breastfeeding hard?  Seriously, get over it, nature is a bitch but that’s because we’re stuck in our heads, our intellect rules us, and we’re taught that pain and physical ordeal is unnecessary, unnatural and to be avoided or dulled.  It’s bullshit.  Yeah okay, my nipples were so freaking sore there for a couple of weeks, and they got better and then went tender again, but I’ve dealt with it.  Coconut oil saved me in the first couple of weeks, then my mum bought me this nipple cream by Weleda which is great.  And both that and the oil are odourless and tasteless and non-toxic, so don’t have to be washed off before feeding.

I’ve already dealt with some up-chucking, initially as a result of some reflux I think, mainly because, well, he’s a baby and babies have immature digestive systems, but I also realised I wasn’t burping him after feeds really.  I felt bad disturbing him as he’d always drift off so peacefully after a feed!  But then one day he really vomited, a huge amount of milk, and it was semi digested too, all curdled and a bit sour-smelling.  So I knew it would be like reflux, and I realised I had to be more disciplined about burping him, which is not such a logistical nightmare and doesn’t require special moves or equipment or fuss, it’s just a matter of making sure he’s upright after feeding and perhaps giving his back a little rub or pat to help the air bubbles make their way out.

I began feeding him in a more upright position and soon the reflux wasn’t really an issue, only lasted a couple of days.  But then the wind began, and that’s been quite hard, or was initially.  I did end up googling to look up what it meant when baby writhed and wriggled while still attached at the end of a feed and pretty much tried to rip my nipple off.  He also started crying a little while feeding, which I didn’t get at first.  Through some surfing, I discovered he probably had wind and there wasn’t a lot to be done really.  I just tried to be more vigilant about burping him more often and properly, so the air had less chance of getting down, which has worked somewhat.

At the end of the first week, baby I weighed his birth weight of 4kg, and by the end of the second he was 4.5kg.  The midwife and I were both very pleased.  He began to get longer and every day he’d change.  His jaundice went eventually by the end of the first week, and he started pooing and weeing quite nicely.  We were rather intrigued to note that his hair has remained reddish blond – must be the Irish in my family!  I suspect his hair will change colour shortly anyway.

So last Monday it was four weeks and a couple of days ago it was one calendar month since the birth.  I took him for a couple of walks, the first with husband, who carried him in the Ergo carrier, which has been a real godsend.  If I ever want him to sleep I just put him in it, and he is alseep in a few minutes, provided I’m moving about.  He’s awfully long and getting longer by the day, so I don’t know how long the newborn insert is going to suit, but we’ll see.  His first ever outing was to the bench near the lighthouse where we had walked the last time, while I was in labour, the day before he was born.  Then we went up the coffee shop a couple of times, which was good, nice to get out.  Then the other week I took him for his first trip in the car – to Double Bay to get some money out of the ATM and to the supermarket.  He slept all the way there, slept in the Ergo as I did what I needed to do, then cried all the way home.  I feel so bad hearing him cry and not rushing straight to his aid, but I know he makes it sound worse than it is.  I was very proud of myself for making it there and back without any real dramas!  I next took him to Bondi Junction to get his birth registered with Medicare and drop off some dry cleaning.  He was again good as gold on the way and during, but on the way back he cried all the way home again.

I discovered just the other week that I apparently have an ‘oversupply’ of breastmilk.  Pfft, whatever.  I don’t think there is any such thing, not in the long term, and I’ll explain why.  I’m demand feeding the little man because I know he will feed when he needs it and will in turn regulate my milk.  So if too much is coming out and choking him or causing him to make that clicky sounding suck, it’s because it’s not bloody established yet!  I read all this shit about women having too much or not enough milk, and worrying about baby getting foremilk or hindmilk or whatever, and I just think, FFS, why worry about this crap before the milk has even regulated itself and before baby has settled in and sorted out what’s what.  Baby knows, the body knows, chill the fuck out already people!  Okay okay, I know this is probably the ideal and women do have serious issues breastfeeding and I’m bloody lucky because my body is working so well with my baby etc etc… yeah, true I guess, but I do believe that just relaxing, not getting pent up about things, trusting in nature, and taking care of yourself can really go a long way to sorting stuff out.  I know the little dude’s latch isn’t fantastic, yeah, but he’s still fairly new at this, and he’ll get it.  I know he’s often not latching well because too much milk is flooding out and choking him, so he regulates it by attaching cautiously just to the nipple where he can control the flow.  My nipples are alright anyway, and I figure he’ll get it by 6 weeks or so and things will settle.  I must admit, I was heartened by reading The Feminist Breeder’s six week update on her daughter (I guess she’s a couple of weeks older than my I man) all about how the baby has just switched into this other ‘happy’ mode after having some issues not dissimilar to what I has gone through.  That’s where I worked out about oversupply actually.  I’m not expecting miracles, don’t get me wrong, but I know this will pass and dude will have more moments of lucidity and unbroken sleep (and in turn we will too!)