Ch 34: Whoa, check out those snowballs

My dear husband, the little master and I recently had dinner at a friends house. Another couple with a family, lovely pair, beautiful kids and a great home. We are, however, still getting to know each other.

So waltzing in without knocking, helping myself to their finest drop then kicking back on their couch, whilst wrestling their ten year old son to the ground is kind of not where we are at yet.

It was a mad scramble to time our arrival to a tee so that we could set the little master up in his portacot and wind down for his usual bed time. He was perfect, went down so easily without a fuss so his parentals could get stuck into a scrumptious roast dinner.

Yet only a few minutes prior, rather than settling into the conversation around the kitchen bench about the usual – work, kids, school, I found myself trying to come up with complimentary comments about the hostess' bust size.

What?

I know, I know..how does this happen literally only a few moments after arriving you ask?

It was a bit of a blur. I do recall the hostess receiving a photo text message – an image of her friends new errr...'girlfriends' she recently paid $10,000 for.

Then the hazy words such as lopsided, breastfeeding, three kids, double D, wow and Thailand were also thrown around.

Picture AP: nodding, ah ha, oh, yes, hmmm, wow, ah ha, right.

Oh look, the little master is riding your dog, excuse me a moment.

Gives dear husband desperate look of OMG WTF?!

Retrieves little master and scurries off to the spare room to put him to bed.

Baby in bed, dinner time. Great. Footy half an hour away from starting. Wine poured. Brilliant. Awkward lopsided boob conversation over. Even better.

With a mouthful of roast potatoes, we manage to keep the conversation to pretty stock standard topics – footy finals, childcare updates, local suburb issues, mutual friends. You know, the usual, boring comfortable stuff. Not a lopsided boob comment in sight.

After retiring to the couch to watch the footy final, the wine and beers continued to flow. And so did the marshmallow snowballs. Yum!

With half an ear tuned into the footy commentary I continued to chat smalltalk with the hostess whilst the boys muttered throwaway remarks regarding free kicks, goal reviews and umpires.

Then it happened.

She said the unthinkable.

The one thing every teenage boy, actually make that ten year old boy, would curl up and hibernate under their doona forever for.

Hostess (gin and tonic in hand): We've caught him playing with himself before. He's only ten.

AP: chokes on marshmallow snowball.

Hostess (takes another swig of the hard stuff): It's not my role to chat to him. It's up to HIM to do it (points to husband who has no idea of new found responsibility, barking obscenities at the TV)

AP: barfs up snowball onto the carpet, dear husband patting her back.

Hostess: They're starting so much earlier these days, if he wants to do that then fine, but he needs to know what it means.

AP (swigs wine): nodding, ah ha, oh, yes, hmmm, wow, ah ha, right.

It kept going. The topic then changed to her teenage daughter and how many bases she had covered with her boyfriend of six months.Wow.

For someone I hardly knew it was too much. Far too much information. On the back of the awkward boob conversation upon arrival, plus the ten year old son discovering his man bits, I just didn't feel comfortable enough to contribute or suggest how they should tackle such issues. It just didn't feel like it was any of my business.

So I sat back and listened, nodded, ahhed, ummed and devoured copious amounts of snowballs and red wine.

I figured, maybe it was just something she needed to talk about and get off her ummm..chest?

Pun unintentional. But it's there. 

The footy finished, we cleaned up, woke the little master, thanked our hosts for a great time and dear husband drove us home. 

Upon our return, dear husband pleaded with me: 'when the little master is a teenager can we not discuss his err...habits with our friends? Pur-leeease AP?!'

Agreed. In fact, two big snowballs to that.

Read more...

Ch 33: Silent Sunday

Read more...

Ch 32: We have a biter and it's not good.

Asleep. It's night time, another day over. Joy.

Well folks, it's official. We have a biter.

I previously wrote about my failure to recognise the little master's first round of teething and as such received a welcome gift from his new white sparkly mates upon arrival. A bite whilst feeding.

It happened once. I went cross at him. He smiled. Thought it was hilarious. I frowned. Life went on.

One week passed and it happened again. In the parents room of a major shopping centre of all places. Lucky me. I went cross again and ended the feed.

Third time round at home, he ended up on the floor with a cross Mum and scared Buddy dog hovering nearby. He then rolled onto his tummy for a play and barfed up his feed. Great! What a waste and more washing for me. Ahh laundry, something different to occupy my day. (insert roll of the eye balls here).

Fourth time round, he got a slight pinch on the arm, a cross Mum, an early end to the feed and straight onto the floor, again with a frightened Buddy dog hiding under his day bed. Yet, the little master gazed into my eyes with a half smile, half not quite ready to get upset, not really sure what is going on kind of look. Got it? Good.

Each feed is now met with sweaty palms, an increased heart rate and not to mention deprivation of oxygen to the brain, as the only method of bracing myself for the imminent pain is to hold my breath. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

I am 7.5 months into feeding the little master and have every intention of continuing until 12 months. I have busted my chops to feed and to feed well over this time. I'm not willing to let this beat me. I can't. I won't.

In fact, over recent weeks I had thought I would continue for a few months beyond one year. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy it..gasp! If you had of told me that during his two, four and six week growth spurts I would have thrown my nipple shield at you. Wha? Too much again? Sorry.

Ok fine, I would have thrown a breast pad at you..bang! Better? Hur? Worse? Oh. My bad.

Anyway nipple shields and breast pads aside, my gut feeling is that I'm in a bit of trouble. I will continue to cut short the feeds, put on my best angry face whilst blubbering a few stern words to the little master, who by now, is sitting on the floor wondering whether or not he should laugh or cry. Or do a bit of both.

Wish me luck.

In the meantime, if you have any suggestions on how to combat this, please drop me a line.

Buddy dog will be forever grateful!

Awake already..resettling on his own. Guess who is teething again? I know, I know..the timing. Hillare. Not.

Read more...

Ch 31: Love a duck!

This morning as dear husband was leaving for work, he posed something quite frightening to me.

DH: What are you going to write about today AP?

AP: Ohh I don't know, I got nothing. Bloggers block. Sigh.

DH: Why don't you write about your mother?

AP: Spits coffee all over buddy dog. WHAAAT? WHYYY? My gawd..nooooo.

DH: Why not? Just write about what it's been like raising a baby without your mother?

AP: Toweling down buddy apologising profusely with liver treats in hand, scratching head, rubbing face.

DH: Have a good day AP! Love you. Closes door.

AP: Whatevs. Sighs again.

So he put the idea in my head and now of course I can't get it out. Pondering over it all morning (it is now 11.30am) I have decided to cave. Fine. I'll write about it. Here it is. But it will be brief 'ish'.

I'm the youngest of five and my mother left the family six months after I was 18 and moved away to go to uni. She stayed until the baby had grown up and left the coop.

That was just over 13 years ago. Oh darn it, now you know how old I am. Boo hiss.

The decision to cut ties with us was hers. We will never really understand why. There have been several attempts to make contact by some of us, all met with a closed door.

I won't go into any more details, it is what it is.

Over the last 13 years she has missed three of her daughters weddings plus the arrival of four grandchildren. The latest one being my little master in January 2012.

I don't discuss this situation very much and only those close to me know the details. The reason why I don't openly make it known is that unless people know me really well, I feel as though they just won't understand and as such would judge me in being the worst daughter in the world. Plus unless they have been in my shoes how could they possibly comprehend what this has been like.

So keeping this close to my chest has made for some awkward moments during general conversations over the years, especially when I was pregnant.

Work colleague: Oh your mother must be so excited that her daughter is having a baby!

AP: Yes, actually the whole family is excited, thanks. Oh look, a bird just flew into the window. How 'bout that!

Work colleague: Will your mother come up and stay for a few days once the baby arrives?

AP: Oh err..no..no she won't. Actually she would drive me mad! Laugh laugh, rant rant.

Work colleague: Oh I know, my mother drives me mad too! Haa haa.

AP: Quietly exits the lunch room, does a few commando rolls under the desks to escape.

Friend of friend: I just don't know what I'd do without my mother, we are so so close, you know?

AP: hmm yes, indeed, how lovely. Need a top up? I'm heading to the bar. Bolt.

That's how it is. Not discussing it time and time again relieves me from the painful conversation and possible judgement from others. And besides, it can be too draining especially when I just want to get on with my work day or be out having a good time.

On the upside, I am an expert in changing conversations at the drop of a hat not to mention my commando rolls.

So how have I managed over the last seven months without that one person that many new mothers rely on so much.

You may have noticed the photo of the mother duck with her baby ducklings above. I took this photo this morning whilst walking to the shops. How gorgeous.

One mother duck with her offspring. Watching their every move and gently guiding them along the way.

The next photo below shows the same mother duck with her brood but surrounding her are other ducks. They may be her mate, friends or ducks she has bumped into along the way.

It doesn't matter where they came from. What matters is that she is surrounded by others who too are keeping eye on her and her duckings. They don't need to be related but regardless, they are her family.

Starting to get my drift? Joining those dots are we?

I am so fortunate to be surrounded by my husband, father, siblings, in-laws, friends, other mothers and past work colleagues. Especially my sister, who at times has been my big sister, best friend, pediatric nurse, chief boob squeezer, tear wiper, chef, counselor and mother all in the one day. Actually make that one hour..

I am so lucky. We are so lucky.

Who knows what the future will bring with regards to being in touch with my own mother. I think about it every day. Time will tell.

In the meantime I will carry on with my own brood and happy little master who his adoring fans just love to pieces.

That is all. Rant over, but now suddenly I feel so guilty for devouring that red duck curry on Saturday night...quack.

Read more...

Ch 30: Silent Sunday

 

Read more...