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Awake and having a decent whinge about it too.

Something amazing happened yesterday. Very unexpected but life changing.


I fell in love. Head over heels. Absolute bonkas, you know the story right?

I found someone so wonderful, fabulous looking, soft and gentle yet firm and supportive.

A perfect match.

The perfect pillow.

And at 65% off RRP, I was thrilled to have snapped up two of them!

Let me introduce you to my new squeeze – the foam memory pillow.

For someone who has suffered neck pain as a result of, well actually I'm not sure what but I can guarantee tired, old feather pillows may have something to do with it. Perhaps some poor posture issues. Maybe spending too much time with my head down squinting at my smartphone. Who knows really.

I have over the past week, spent much of the night banging my fists on the pillow, tossing it over and over again, slamming my head down mumbling obsenitites grovel grovel..

Enough was enough so I hit the shops.

The result - the most refreshing night sleep in over five months. Not to mention the somersaults down the hallway. Don't worry my neck was fine..

Asleep, thumb in mouth, too cute.

With the little master down by 7.00pm, I followed at 9.30pm.

Woke at...wait for it – 4.30am for his first feed (two mornings in a row thank you very much!).

Then back down until 7.30am.

For the first time in over five months, I really didn't need that caffeine hit first thing in the morning to get me up and about. Amazing.

I still whipped up a warm brew regardless and whilst quietly sipping the coffee bean goodness, I proudly proclaimed to my dear husband that 'I think I love my new pillow more than you. In fact I'm sure of it.'

His gorgeous reply: 'That's quite alright AP.'

Happy wife, happy life right? Indeed.

Asleep. Still.

Yaaawn..is it my bedtime yet? I miss my new squeeze..




It's mid afternoon and I am knackered.

Tired and grumpy from another unsuccessful city lunch trip.

That's it now, I've banned city lunch dates indefinitely.

The plan was to meet three dear work friends with one other bubba for a lunch I literally dream about.

Think – xiao long bao, chilli wontons, chinese broccoli with oyster sauce. You guessed it. My great food love (second only to the chocolate lamington) hutong dumplings.

Buurrrrpp! Oops, excuse me!

A good run into the city, including a nap for the little master. Great, but expensive car park across the road from the restaurant. On time (actually we were early), happy baby dishing out the smiles left right and centre, hungry mum salivating at the prospect of chowing down a ward of dumpling delight faster than you can say 'another serve of wontons with hot chilli sauce please'.

I had my dumpling shoes on and we were ready to rumble.

Until he cracked it.

Ah yes, nap in the car not quite long enough. Restaurant noisy. Busy lunch hour. Restaurant heating decided to pretend we were in the middle of the Swiss Alps. Either that or staff had a bet as to who would succumb to the heat first and strip off to their bare essentials. Or maybe not. I'm just being silly. Think the heat has affected me..

We ordered as soon as we arrived. No menus needed thanks, been coming here for years.

Lunch served. Wonton goodness floating through the air.

Me – in the stairwell comforting and rocking the little screamer off to sleep. But there's too much to look at. Too many noises and smells to take note of. I don't want to sleep. I like whinging and taking you away from your precious dumpling moment. And who can sleep in this heat anyway?!

The dumplings were cold by the time one hit my lips. The xiao long bao was too awkward to devour with the little master asleep in my arms. Wasn't keen on attempting to scoff it in one hit at the risk of choking on the soup filling – I've done it before, without a baby in my arms, and believe me, not a great look.

I settled for a couple of wontons and some mince beef with noodles.

Asleep..I think. Silence is good. Silence is great.

Silence means jack. Eyes wide open.

As I ponder on another failed lunch date – an expensive one at that too. Think $48 for less than two hours parking in the city. I know I know, stupid me. But unable to bring a pram into the tiny restaurant I had little choice but to park as close as possible. The logistical joys I tellsya! 

Anyway, as I ponder on my lighter pocket, drawn eyes, overtired baby who won't drop off now, and unsatisfied dumpling hungry tummy, I have made an executive decision.

No more city runs at lunchtime. I don't care whose birthday it is, how long it has been since we have caught up, who is leaving work or how good the dumplings are.

Our whole day has gone down the drain (closely followed by our cold leftover wontons we had to leave at the table..). We are tired, slightly embarrassed, frustrated and a tad hungry. Not to mention flat broke. Did I mention the parking?!

If you can't compromise and meet me for a quick coffee and cake mid morning, well tough wontons. I'm going to have to do something I've had trouble doing for the past 30 years.

Sorry that doesn't suit us.
Too hard basket.
He sleeps at that time.
Yes, I'm saying no.


Besides, dumplings are sooo 2011.

Cake is much more 2012.

Especially chocolate lamingtons.

Asleep. Joy.



Reflections on the previous night


Awake, whinge, whinge, whinge. No intervention from me.


Beep beep! Text message from drunk dear husband: 'will get a cab home'

Beep beep! Text message from drunk annoying husband: 'can't get a cab! Still waiting'

Beep beep! Text message from drunk he is in so much trouble for waking me again husband: 'in a cab, on my way!'

Drunk husband stumbles in, blabbering incoherently about some horse winning at Ascot..

Awake, change, feed, asleep

Ah yes, not a typo. First feed at 5am.

5am I tellsya!

Awake, change, smiles

It could have been the greatest night sleep in five months.

Thanks drunk dear husband. Thanks.*

*On the upside at least he was responsible enough to leave the car and grab a cab home. Thanks drunk responsible husband! I'll catch up on sleep another time..



Asleep with one arm out of his woombie swaddle – win for us.

Yes, I've started the transition from a swaddle to a sleeping bag..baby steps. Will keep you posted on how this is progressing.

Now I must admit that the little master is not my only child. He has an older brother who is an expert on sleeping, can drop off anywhere at any time for hours and hours, resettle on his own accord, doesn't need any comforters apart from a warm spot to lay his tired head.

There are a couple of minor differences – the older brother has fur, long floppy ears and the most becoming ability to lick his own bottom clean. Plus he only needs two feeds a day. Geez, talk about low maintenance.

His name is Buddy and we adore him. I mean look at him, he's gorgeous!

As our first child, he has been spoiled. I mean really spoiled. Lots of rides in the car, play time in the park, tummy rubs and an endless array of cuddles. Plus our bed is apparently his, not ours.

For such a little furry friend, he has an enviable ability to easily transition into a dead weight upon any prompting of movement from his sleeping haven – on our legs, feet, pillow, face.

Yes, I said face and I meant it. Usually only when the thunderstorms hit...usually.

Introducing him to the newborn little master was a nervous time. He wasn't too impressed. He was shocked, scared and at times I have no doubt he felt a little left out. Although we have been mindful not to abandon Buddy and to still give him as much attention as possible, his world has changed. Forever.

Unlike children, we couldn't prepare Buddy with storybooks such as 'There's a House inside my Mummy'. Instead, we bribed him with doggie treats and lots of positive reinforcement upon bringing the little master home.

Has it worked? To an extent, yes. Oh apart from the weight gain thanks to mastering the sad puppy eyes begging for yet another schmacko. Whoops. How are those arteries going??

Oh and his annual vaccinations are slightly overdue...just haven't quite got round to getting him to the vet. Whoops again. Is he still itching?

So although he is now overweight and at risk of developing and spreading some flea infested virus, the canine jury is still out as to whether he has taken a loving to the little master.

We think the little master loves him. I mean, he has peed on his head and only this morning did a little vomit on his tail. Obvious signs of affection no doubt. I'm sure that's his way of saying 'I love you'. He does it to me all the time! Well apart from peeing on my head. But I'm sure he could manage it if he tried really hard.

We hope with time, Buddy will cuddle up to the little master once he is in a big boy bed. Then we won't have to deal with the canine bottom burps, snores of contentment and his refusal to move just a few centimeters to the right so you can stretch your legs.

Yet once those thunderstorms hit I have no doubt I will still be comforting two scared and anxious little boys in my bed, cuddling up to my legs, feet, pillows, face...actually make that three including my dear husband.

Asleep, still. Now where is that vet's phone number..



Asleep with hardly a murmur.

One of the challenges of being a first time mother to a four month old is to get out and about and forge new relationships with other local new mums.

I live in a booming family orientated suburb which is seriously at times pram central. Now when I say pram central I truly mean it. My inner petrol head has on many occasions zoomed in and out of pram traffic so well it would make Michael Schumacher shiver in his Ferrari. Or should that be Mercedes now? Benetton? No, that was so 1991...

Anyway, if he is ever on my side of town he may as well just pack on up and go home. Nobody beats my Mountain Buggy.

It started several months ago with facilitated mothers group sessions. Or should I say 'first time parents group' because Dad's stay at home too! Yes, that's much more inclusive.

The nature of these sessions is probably another blog for another day. They were interesting to say the least but on a positive note, it has allowed me to make one very good new friend.

With the formal sessions now completed, our group of new parents now meet once or twice weekly at the local library for a play group session titled 'Baby Time'.

My dear husband has referred to it as a cult..which is perhaps a little harsh. Cults can be misunderstood after all.

Due to popularity, these Baby Time sessions aren't advertised, so perhaps 'Secret Society' is more appropriate.

I'll cut to the chase. Our Secret Society is a 25 minute song and rhyme session hosted by an eccentric orange haired women (our leader), with musical instruments hanging off her wrists, arms, legs, nose – oh sorry that would be a piercing. Plus there's a talking frog.

Hang on, let me repeat that. There's a talking frog. *gasp*

Mothers (Secret Society members) from around our over-bred suburb gather and literally overtake what was a peaceful sanctuary for the local book worm or VCE student cramming for mid year exams. Sorry about that.

The format is simple – pop your baby on the floor (own blanket and burp cloth essential), follow the leaders guide, throw baby up in the air when prompted (don't forget to catch them), clean the projectile vomit off wherever it should land (whoops, sorry, they weren't new shoes were they?), laugh, sing, tickle and sarcastically ask dear friend "is this sh*t over yet?" through smiling gritted teeth.

Then manage the overtired cries upon conclusion and rock the little master off to sleep to the sounds of the talking frog muttering in the background.

On the upside, the kids love it. Vomit and all. It's great for their development and a fun way for them to begin socialising with others. And what better way to introduce yourself to a potential new friend with this opening line – "Oh hi there, I'm AP. Let me clean that spew off your back. Come here often?"

Plus we all want to be members of a Secret Society, don't we? Especially one with a talking frog.

Asleep. Still. Bliss.



Reflections on the previous night.


Awake, change, feed, asleep, mother doing happy dance in hallway

Awake, smiling, change, play, feed, mother so energised she is ready to run a marathon.

On second thoughts, perhaps another happy dance will do the trick.




Cranky pants.

Culprit - mass poo on it's way.

End result - one relieved child and one frantic mother washing what was once a white cotton top.

Mine that is, not his.

Oh yes, it seeped through the lot - nappy, singlet, top then me. Bliss.

Smile! At least it happened at home.

Asleep. And much lighter for that matter.

That is all.





Agrh, hadn't even put a word down yet!
Then again, this is quite timely...

Yesterday was a clear example of how sleep absolutely rules every second of our world.

It was an early start at 6am. Rather than greeting the little master with a joyful grin and baby talk of 'did you sleep well my little angel??' He was met with cries of 'Noooo, really? Whyyy? Cawffee? Please! Somebody!'.

Note – he did receive the cheesy grins once the caffeine had hit my bloodstream.


It was Friday and we were off to the city to get our adult conversation fix with my workmates. A team lunch where I could catch up on all the goss and handball the little monster, oh sorry, master, off to his adoring aunts who fuss over his every move, smile and bottom burps.

It was a 12.30pm start at a fabulous restaurant on Bourke Street. Lunch selection already pre-ordered, car park organised, high heels on, ready to rumble.

Easy peasy right?

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Silent still, too scared to go in and check in case I rev him up again. Come'on go to sleep..

Oh I can't help myself, in I go.

Asleep, just. Better bang this one out.

I won't bore you with the minute details of the morning and what really went down from 6.00am –12.30pm in our household.

The result was not only missing lunch but then abandoning a secondary plan to pop into the restaurant for a coffee only as we were going to be arriving too late.

This then progressed to skipping the lunch and the coffee completely and finding myself out the front of Parliament House rocking the master to sleep in his pram. Without a workmate or mushroom and ricotta gnocchi in sight. Or a lunchtime glass of wine for that matter.

On a learning note, amazing what a bit of sun glare can do to force the eyes to close^. *cough*

The culprit of such a disastrous late arrival was clear – 50 minutes of fighting his mid morning sleep then waking up after 15 minutes only to drop off again for a full 45 minutes. Little bugger. Was still asleep when we should have been perusing the wine menu.

But that's ok (well actually it wasn't at the time, I'm being nice). Arriving well over an hour late, dessert being served but with the majority of my team heading back to the morgue, sorry office, I managed to laugh it off all unbeknown to the sleeping master in the pram.

“Wha? I've missed lunch? Really? Oh darn!” *laughs it off, rolls the eyes* - you know the drill.

So yes, sleep cycles currently rule our world. For the greater good? In the long term yes. In the short term when it declares war on mum's adult time – not necessarily.

I did, however, manage to get my office gossip fix upon walking back to our workplace and his aunts quietly cooed over his beautiful sleeping face, thumb in his mouth, silent as a mouse sleeping style. He turns it on when it matters, of course.

All in all, we left happy. Hungry, but happy.

Asleep, still. Keep going little man.

Whilst he is still down, I might start preparing tonight's dinner. Have a hankering for a mushroom and ricotta gnocchi....

^Little master's vision not harmed, simply being facetious..sort of.



Awake but dropping off

We have just come home from my niece's fourth birthday at...
wait for it..


you guessed it – a play centre.

Or in the words of the birthday girl's mother: 'a germ infested hell hole'.
(insert shiver down spine here)

That it is my dear. Even more evident when a four year old young lady warned me not to go on the jumping castle because 'there was wee on it'.

'Oh darn it' I groaned as I put my shoes back on. I only came for cake and the jumping castle.

I have always likened play centres as the adult equivalent of a drunken pub crawl – lots of unruly behaviour, too much alcohol..oops I meant sugar, fried food, lots of bumps and bruises, fighting then cuddling because you can't remember what you were fighting about in the first place, then concluding with an array of tears and a long long nap.


Whilst he is out for the count I'm off to disinfect my clothes, my hair, the pram, nappy bag, my clothes again..and so on and so forth.



Reflections on the previous night.




Awake, change, feed, asleep


Awake, change, feed, asleep


Awake, smiles, refreshed and Mum feeling like a million bucks.




It's night time, which means a good long sleep for him and a glass of wine for me. Joy. Always conscious of the beautiful dark and warm red vino leaving my system before his overnight feed usually results in a small glass guzzled with a hearty meal of carbohydrates. However if I overindulge with two glasses I will wake up gingerly accompanied by a headache. How embarrassing, such a lightweight now. Contrary to my past.

Ah yes, my past. Fun. Carefree. Social. Wasted? Don't think so. Perhaps self indulgent to an extent. If I wanted to do something, little would stop me. Fortunately I have an amazing husband who has only ever been supportive of my personal interests and ambitions. Some costing us a few dollars along the way (think last minute interstate trips for footy finals, Crawf's 300th game in Tassie, cutting back work hours to go back to study..oh the list goes on and on).

But we had the means to do it. I worked hard, very hard and played hard too. I rewarded myself with experiences, not clothes or materialistic goods. With memories that will stay with me forever.

Memories. Friday nights at the local. Beer with hot chips. Salt and vinegar chips as an entree. Chicken parmas. More beer. The occasional cheeky dart. Footy on the telly. John behind the bar. Helping the elderly man from his bar stool to the taxi week in week out. Red wine. Mates. Laughter. Dusty hangovers.


Present. Friday nights in bed at 9pm. Bum cream. Nursing pads. Sophie the Giraffe teething toy. Baby time sessions at the library. Sleep cycles. Nursery rhymes. Burping. Coffee dates with new mums. Pram in the car. Pram out of the car. Smiles. Cries. Sleep deprivation. Pram friendly cafes. Feet tickles. Poo explosions. Apologising for cancelling..again. Bad hair. Jealous dog.

This is it, for now. Perhaps I wasn't ready to let go of my former self. I miss my friends, my workmates, my footy crew, my reliability and belonging where I was comfortable. Although they haven't disintegrated , things have changed. Getting out and about can be hard. At times it's a huge effort that not many appreciate or could understand. It can be isolating and confronting when you realise who your true friends are.

On the upside I have a beautiful and healthy little fella who is reliant on me for the best start in life. What an overwhelming responsibility. New friends have emerged. Friends in similar situations, sharing the same experiences, the ups and the downs. The fun times and the bad times. We're in it together. Smile as we wipe the milk vomit off our pyjamas at 4am. Be thankful.

Welcome to the club. There's only one way in and no way out.

Asleep. Still.



So I started to write. I had to, my mind was slowly turning into a vegetable mush, much like what I will be soon feeding to my four and half month old bundle of testosterone joy.


Finally, he has dropped off. Overtired. My fault. Put him down ten minutes too late. I've had to let him cry it out and my heart hurts for doing so.

This is what my life is like now – timing my whole existence around sleep cycles and feeding, debating whether the crying pain is wind, crankiness, hunger or boredom. Constantly battling with various emotions and second guessing whether I'm doing the 'right' thing.

Why does it feel like I am the only one with a baby who cries when tired? Sounds silly doesn't it? Yet I am amazed as to how many other babies I have met who just drop off without a murmur. I wouldn't change him. He has character. He is active. A challenge but blessed with an intoxicating personality, regularly showcasing an array of smiles. He is beautiful.

Me, well I'm tired, still. It's been 18 weeks. We have a good night and I'm still tired. I think I'll be tired forever. I worry I've lost the ability to write well and wonder how I will cope back in the workplace. I still have time up my sleeve so I need to write, to vent, to share and to laugh upon reflection.

So here I am, writing during his sleeping times. The sound of the keyboard, the backspace the double space. I'm back. But where to start? What would be interesting? What would be worthwhile?

Please please not another blog or piece about the joys of parenting (insert ray of sunshine here). Not that there's anything wrong with that...it can just give the wrong impression.

New parents gloat about how much of a good time they are having. How their angel doesn't cry when she got her needles (bulldust..really how many eight week old babies don't cry when they have two big needles shoved into their miniature legs?). How they are sleeping for hours and hours of a night time, how feeding is blissful and it came with such ease and how they would do it all again tomorrow. Never any problems. Never.

They haven't cried more tears in four months than in the past 30 years.

Or have they?

Do they actually go home, undress out of their 'good' clothes depicting an image of happiness and confidence?

Do they throw on their sloppy joes and slippers, wipe their makeup off and collapse on the couch for another session of feeding, screaming, settling, playing and supervising?

Do they?

If they're lucky, they might catch a beautiful smile that in a split second can relay enough positive energy to help you forget any negative connotation that comes with being a sleep deprived new parent.



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