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.

The baby shower enigma

34 weeks. Finally I’m starting to feel slightly tired and heavy, even though everyone said, ‘just wait til you hit 28 weeks, you’ll be exhausted!’  I’m fine, just noticing things are a bit of an effort.  And sleeping is not as comfortable as it once was, despite my newly acquired body pillow – husband with jimmy arms which step up a level after a few beers is also not conducive to comfy sleep!

So I had a ‘baby shower blessingway thingo’ (as I’ve awkwardly dubbed it) on Sunday.  I was reluctant to have it, for a number of reasons:

1. I’m not an organiser – do I really have to do stuff?

2. I’m not a good socialiser – love people, especially people who make sense to me, but socialising really takes effort for me, being the proper anti-social introvert.

3. I don’t like being the centre of attention.

4. I don’t like clichés and silly, girly banter – I like things down to earth.

5. I’m not that keen on ‘baby stuff’, oohing and aahing over supposedly cute outfits etc.  Babies in general I don’t really know what to do with and I’m not really that interested.

6. I find the whole ‘motherhood’, fawning over babies, talking about babies constantly to be a little full on and not ‘me’, despite the fact that I’m ridiculously excited about meeting this little person currently poking his/her elbow into my right hip bone.

7. I’m not good with ‘women’ stuff – being in homebirth circles you end up inevitably connecting with women who have rituals about their periods, worship the ‘Goddess’, do women’s workshops and consider themselves feminists.  I am completely happy to be female (way better than male, der!) but I don’t feel the need to draw attention to being a woman.  It is what it is, I am who I am, meh…

So it was with some fairly harsh pre-conceived notions and scepticism that I agreed to having a get together organised.  Luckily the friend who did it is absolutely freaking awesome, so incredibly creative and clever, and has a similar sort of ‘no crap’ kind of attitude to me, so I knew she’d do something that fits me.

Because it was in Canberra, where I grew up, I found myself inviting people who I hadn’t seen in a really long time, as well as people who I see quite often.  It was bizarre seeing all those different people in the one context.  My mum was there too.

Oddly enough, it turned out to be absolutely amazing.  We didn’t hold any hippy women’s rituals, nor did we play games involving bottles and nappies.  But it was perfect.  I realised what a mix of women I know and consider important, and how each had things in common with the other, via me.  Everyone participated in their own way, for me, and the various things people said and did all resonated and meant something.  I still can’t believe all those people came along just for me.

As we drove home I suddenly realised the purpose of a baby shower or blessingway or ‘get together thingo’, whatever you want to call it… This baby is going to be born fairly soon, and this get together just helped round it all out for me.  I felt so warm and fuzzy, it was ridiculous, so content, like I’d tied up all my loose ends and could just retreat into birth world and do what I was meant to do.  What a feeling!  On a practical level, no, I haven’t tied up all the loose ends, far from it in fact; but on a spiritual level I feel so ready, it’s insane, it’s like this perfect progression from woman to mother is occurring, and I’m completely content with it.