Not the Answer I wanted, but an Answer nonetheless

I have two absolutely beautiful children. Gosling is 18months old, and Critter will be 6 next month.


Gosling is slowly learning new words, with all people having become 'daddy' (Tall person with hair on his face who throws me in the air? Daddy. Other tall person with long hair who stays at home and feeds me? Daddy. Random people I meet at the shops/on the street/at the brother's school? Daddy), and all objects having become 'dut' (especially if they are yellow, say "quack" and like water), except trucks, which are brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrm. She has a doll cradle, and is constantly putting her babies (dolls, bunnies, teddies, trucks, books, blankets, cooking implements) in, rocking them vigorously, and taking them out again. Lather, rinse, repeat. And repeat. And repeat, repeat, repeat. She tries to be gentle with the cat, and loves to do my hair. She's also become very interested in birds, and is constantly pointing them out to me whenever we are outside. She is my shadow, and wants to be wherever I am, and do whatever I am doing. From cleaning the windows, to wiping up spills, to sitting on the couch listening to music. Now if only her hair would thicken up so I can do cute things with it...


The Critter, my big boy, is a very smart little thing. He is reading at a level far above every other child in his class - well enough to have been pushed into the 2nd highest reading group in the 1st grade class. He is in kindergarten. He can read words like laughter, lamington, crocodile, and amused. I change the channel when the news is on because he reads the headlines and asks me what murder means and why did that man do it to his three children? He is interested in everything, and I find myself answering a never-ending string of questions on everything from how a jet works, to why there are so many different types of flowers. He is amazing with lego, and has been doing the 7-12 age group stuff since before his 5th birthday. He plays Auskick - kids version of AFL (aussie football) - and has kicked some very good goals. He loves to dance. And sing. And run, and jump, and do flips and play on the trampoline and play with the hula hoop andplaywithtrucksandreadandwatchtvand.. you get the picture. He loves life. He loves everything. He loves vegetables. We bribe him with broccoli to get him to finish his meat ('If you eat three more pieces of your steak, you can have daddy's vegetables.'). We fight a constant battle against eczema, and have a variety of asthma and allergy medications in the cupboard. Every time he encounters a new food, he asks if it has eggs in it. Or chicken. Or nuts.

He is the sweetest, most beautiful boy I have ever known. He hugs me when I am sad, pats my head and wraps his scrawny arms around my neck, and tells me that its OK and he loves me. He picks me flowers and draws me pictures. He wanted to marry his sister because 'she is so beautiful'. He wants to play with her all the time, and is always telling his friends about all the amazing things she can do - like walking, and eating her own food, and talking.

But ever since he could walk, the Critter has been running. Everywhere he goes, he runs, skips, or jumps. He climbs trees (I had to wash his hair before it was due the other day because he was covered in ants from climbing trees), rolls down hills, and jumps off steps constantly. The more he runs, the more energy he seems to have. The trampoline is in almost constant use when he is at home, and some days, it is the only thing that keeps me sane. He can not sit still, constantly jumping into and out of his chair, whether he is eating, playing lego, watching tv, or doing his homework. Every time he sees something, he gets distracted by it. It takes him 25 minutes to put on a t-shirt and trousers in the morning, over half an hour to brush his teeth, and he takes nearly an hour to eat a sandwich.

I do not remember the last time he actually ate all his lunch at school. Usually, at least half a sandwich gets eaten when he gets home, because he didn't eat it all before the bell went at lunch time to go outside and play.

He sits at his own desk at school, because he gets distracted too easily if there is another child sitting near him. He tells them how to do their work, wants to play, and does not keep his hands to himself.

There is a square taped on the carpet where he is allowed to sit, and none of the other children are allowed inside his square.

He has been kept in at lunch for playing instead of doing his work, telling the teacher what to do, and not keeping his hands to himself.

Again, he is in KINDERGARTEN.

Even when he's kept in, he still doesn't manage to eat all his food.

He has lost his jacket at school more times than I can count. He's on his third one now, the other two having vanished, and he's left it behind at least twice already.

He loses things at home too. I don't know where half his lego is.

He seems to find it impossible to actually look at people when they're talking to him. In the time it takes to tell him to go brush his teeth and get his PJs on, he will have changed his line of sight at least 3 times, probably swung at least one arm around like a windmill, and moved about a foot to the left - after being told to stand still with his hands behind his back, and Look. At. My. Eyes when I'm talking to you please.

When he was younger I assumed all children had boundless energy and didn't know how to stay still for more than a heartbeat. His teacher thought it was boredom and has been giving him harder and harder work, because he is a bright boy, and he does need more advanced work than a lot of the others in his class.

In my bible study last week, when we were each asked for things we'd like to pray for, Critterbug was mine. That we would find some way to help him, something we could put in place that would stop him being disruptive in class, help him find a way to concentrate, and bring a calm to our lives that we've never known.

Yesterday, I got my Answer. His teacher says a his behaviours are very similar to other children with ADHD. Giving him harder work to alleviate boredom has not worked, it simply makes him frustrated at the harder work. He recognises that he can not function at a table with other children and needs to be on his own, but it upsets him that he has to be separated, and he still has concentration issues. Lots of concentration issues. It is practically impossible for him to stay still. Ever.

Looking at a typical day in Critter-world, at the things he does and the things he can not do, and having looked at lists of symptoms of ADHD, I'm coming to agree with the teacher. While he doesn't do anything to the extent of the "troubled ADHD kids" you see on the TV* - hitting, screaming, climbing onto roofs, running non-stop, throwing things around - he does do a lot. He gets distracted constantly, can't stay still, flits from one thing to another, loses things a lot, fidgets, runs and climbs all the time, has NO volume control (actually, he has three volumes - shout, shouted-whisper, and so-quiet-he-can't-even-hear-himself), talks/sings/hums ALL. THE. TIME. (the only time my house is silent is when he is asleep or at school. even when he's eating, he's talking), doesn't seem to hear what people tell him, and interrupts a lot.

He's a good boy. He's sweet. He's bright. And he tries.

This was not the Answer I wanted for my boy**. This is not the Answer I wanted for our family. But it is an Answer with an answer***, with things we can do, if doctors agree with his teacher's suspicions.

And it's looking like the only Answer I'm getting.



*He actually does have a cousin like this, though I've only seen him post-medication, where he looked like any other 5yr old. Hubby tells me that before his nephew was medicated, things were pure insanity.

**After looking at everything I possibly could to prove to myself that there's no way Critter has ADHD and the teacher must be wrong (yeah. that failed), it actually looks like this is a possible answer to me as well. It would explain a LOT of my childhood behaviours, and a lot of the problems I have now, in regards concentration, distractedness, and forgetfulness. For example, I don't think I ever once did my homework on time - not because of laziness, but because I could never remember that I even had any, and the only way I can come even CLOSE to keeping the house in order now is to have a list of 3 to 4 things to do each day, taped to the fridge so I'll get distracted by them every time I walk past it. It works a little bit.

***The more times I write "answer" the more the word looks wrong. Do you ever find that?

Shoelaces

Critterbug started school in February. He is 5 - he'll be 6 in September. Until now he's has shoes with some form of velcro fastening, because thats really all there is around. But this year he also started playing Auskick (little kid's AFL - aussie football). He's incredibly uncoordinated, but he has fun, and he looks cute in his uniform.

Theres just one problem. The spikes. They have laces.

He's a smart kid. He can count by tens, by twos, and probably fives if I asked him. He can do simple addition and subtraction sums, and is reading and writing amazingly well - if you ignore the fact that he seems unable to differentiate between capital and lowercase letters. He just picks one at random with no thought as to what should be used. He also uses words like "delectable" to describe dinner. No, I don't know where he picked that up.

Do to the smarty-pants factor, he's picking up the whole shoe-tying thing pretty well. He's got the concept, just needs a little reminding occasionally, and his complete and utter lack of coordination doesnt seem to be hindering him too much.

No, the problem isn't with him. Its with me.

Oh don't be stupid, of course I can tie my laces. We weren't allowed to play in the playground at school until we could tie our laces, becasue the teachers refused to tie everyones shoes at the end of lunch everday, and we had to take our shoes off to play. I learned pretty quick.

The problem isn't that I can't tie my laces, the problem is that I can't tie his.

My husband taught him how, and he does his VERY DIFFERENTLY. I can't make my fingers do his way.

• Cross the laces, tuck one under, pull tight. CHECK.
• Make a loop. CHECK.
• Wrap the other lace around the loop. CHECK.
• Pull the wrapped lace through the hole and form a second loop, pulling it tight. NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He makes a loop BEFORE he pushes it through the hole!!! I CAN'T DO IT!! I get in theory that you end up with the same result, I can see that you get the same result, but I can't make my fingers do it! They get all twisted and dumb and just won't do it!!

And it's made me curious. Is this simply an individual difference, caused by someone in our respective pasts figuring out different ways to do it, or is it a larger scale difference, anerican V australian/english?

I'm so tempted to just have the kid use bunny ears. Make my life easier by far.

noise in the small hours

slowly, awareness comes. it is cold, and dark, and i do not want to be awake. my furnace-hot husband is curled up in a ball behind me, our backs pressed together, the only part of me that is warm. vaguely i am aware that i should pull the blanket up, but today is technically the first day of summer, and i stubbornly refuse to give in, especially as up til now it has been so hot we've been forgoing even a sheet at night.

i roll over, determining to go back to sleep, ignoring the slightly distressed tiny noises the man makes whenever i move away from him. after six years, they hardly register, unless he is facing me and i have to disengage his suddenly vicelike arms and reassure him i am not going anywhere. with my face pressed against his back he relaxes, and i allow consciousness to leave me again. as i slowly drift, a noise jars me back to the cold - obviously the reason i was awake to begin with. insistent and annoyed, my daughter is awake, and only milk will satisfy her. i pull the blanket onto the bed as i leave the room, and my husband barely stirs.

in the dark and the cold, the creak of the floorboards is deafening, and i am sure i will wake everyone. miraculously, only the mini-one notices, and her insistent annoyance becomes fear and sadness when i do not materialise next to her bed the moment she hears my footsteps. her sobs of anguish are only quieted when tiny outstretched arms and feathery soft head find their resting place on my shoulder. in the heat of yesterday, the sleepsack was her only nightwear, but now, in the dark, her pudgy arms are cold to touch, and i reach for a tiny soft shirt to keep her warm, before we return to my bed to nurse.

my footsteps still creaking, suddenly i freeze. a voice, loud in the darkness, and baby's head startles off my shoulder - i have to make sure and get more chicken so we don't run out. silent laughter racking my body, i try not move, as her tiny head swings from side to side and she questions into the dark, not understanding. i just didn't know anymore so i went and did it. my son has inherited my sleeptalking, and i wonder, not for the first time, how sleeptalker and nightnurser do not constantly disturb each other.

eyes adjusted to the dark, i see the skinny body sprawled across the bed. one foot hangs off the side, his head is pressed against the wall, toy-puppy gripped firmly by the arm twisted behind his arched back. satisfied he is still sleeping, i pull pirate-covered blankets over my cold skinned boy - when do we get to go back to the zoo for burgers again? - and make my way back to my own bed with the now-warmer-girl. tired and hungry, she cries again when i lay her down, never remembering in her half-awake state that i will be joining her shortly and the milk will flow. as we adjust ourselves to more comfortable positions, a sleepy arm is thrown over me, and she startles off, squealing with delight as she feels daddy's hand. he is oblivious, lost in the sleep i crave, and she soon resumes nursing, the possibility of daddy superseded by the reality of milk.

comfortable between two warm bodies, i search out the clock in the dark before i let sleep claim me again. 3-4-9 i see in blurry green. almost 5am, as we don't change this clock for daylight savings. slowly the dark becomes complete as tired eyes close, and sleep cautiously returns. i drift, warm and dark, till again i am jarred awake, by the 5am alarm calling the man to get up and ready for work. he stirs, moving away to end the jarring alarm, my back suddenly cold without his bodyheat to warm me, and then, silence.

slowly sound and warmth return, wakeup call ignored in search of rest. small body in my arms warm and still, save for twitching fingers and breath-raised chest, husband behind me asleep almost instantly, his constantly-hot-body keeping my back warm in the cold, hand holding his daughter's, his sleep-steady breath beside my ear lulling me to my own sleep once more, and blocking out all other noises in the small hours.

The boy is five

I kept meaning to write this post, and never got round to it. Two weeks ago, Critter turned five. Which means its been over five years since I lay on bloodsoaked sheets in hospital, wondering how my baby could squeak before he was all the way out, and trying not to wonder if I was going to pass out. My sweet baby boy, my boogerface, my munchkin, my boyo is growing up. His vocabulary is increasing (he described dinner as delectable a couple months back. WHERE DOES HE LEARN THESE WORDS!!) almost daily, it seems, and his lego skills are enviable. I'm glad I have Gosling to be the baby, because Critter certainly isn't any more.


We had his birthday at the bowling alley, and my mum helped me to make a castle cake for him - he picked it out of the cake book. I love the cake book, but I might try to direct him towards something easier next time. The castle took 3 quantities of cake, and far too much icing. And I nearly had a meltdown trying to get the chocolate windows done.


I also made 4 dozen (48!!!) cupcakes for him to take to preschool. NEVER AGAIN.

Family: do we have to keep them?

Today, my lovely sister accused me of loving Gosling more than Critterbug. Her reasoning? I buy her lots of clothes, and I make her food from scratch instead of buying it all in jars. Uh.... right.

Clothes: Critterbug is 5 (in 2 weeks!! EEK!!!) and has too many clothes already. He has so many shirts I've run out of hangers for his wardrobe. He also has some sitting in the storage room waiting for present-times, to replace ones in his wardrobe that are a mite too small. The thing is, at 5 years old he grows slower than a baby, and therefor doesn't need new clothes as often as a baby does. Gosling however grows like a weed. I have bought her a lot of clothes, but she's already grown out of 3 or 4 sizes since she was born, and a lot of what I've bought is in larger sizes - I bought it cheap so I don't have to pay full price when I need it, and its sitting in her dresser waiting till she grows again. Theres also the fact that some babies tend to need a lot of clothes because they have explosive nappies, or they throw up a lot. She does both.

Food: It is significantly cheaper to make food for Gosling than it is to buy it. What would cost me $11 on sale in jars can be made for about $2, a couple hours in the oven, and 5 minutes with a blender and icecube trays. I wish I had realised this when Critter was tiny, and had had the confidence in myself to actually do it. Because while my mother loved to tell us how she never bought jarred food for us kids, and always ground up our food at every meal, she never once offered to help me or show me how to do it, and as depressed as I was, I didn't think I could do it anyway. I mashed sweet potato for him a couple of times, but that was about it.

My sister says a lot of things that bother me, and usually I can ignore them, but this one has really got to me. Probably because I'm so scared that people might think its true. I don't love Gosling any more than I love my Critter, and I don't give her any more attention that I give him (i neglect them both equally. (JOKE! that was a joke people!!)), excepting that she's a tiny baby and unable to do things for herself like toileting and feeding, but I do treat her differently than I treated him when he was her age, because of the depression.

After Critterbug was born, I was so depressed I could hardly function. I contemplated suicide more than a few times, firmly believing that no-one would miss me, and that my husband and newborn son would be better off without me anyway. There were days when I would just sit, staring at the baby as he screamed and screamed, not caring. He was fed, he was clean, I had taken care of the basics, and he didn't want me to hold him, so I just stared, and thought "yeah.. so?" There are times now when I don't know what to do with Gosling. When she's been fed and changed, needs a sleep, doesn't want to be held, but screams when I put her down, and I end up just walking away, but I care. I keep an ear out to make sure she doesn't get too distressed, and I rack my brains trying to think if I've not thought of something. I don't hover over her when I know I cant do anything about it, but it makes my soul hurt listening to her cry. I don't just sit and stare at her, vaguely wondering why she's crying, but not caring enough to try and fix it.

I am constantly amazed at how relatively easy things have been this time round, and am incredibly thankful. She nurses easily, she eats with no problems and doesn't appear to be afflicted with allergies, she usually sleeps for 7+ hours in a row at night, and is generally cheerful. I have not been sent down the dark road this time, and having done it all before, I have more confidence in my abilities as a mother, too. I have enjoyed my Critter as a child, so much it makes my heart want to burst, but I merely experienced him as a baby. Now, I am enjoying having a baby for the first time, and I'm loving it.

Then my sister goes and ruins everything, and leaves me feeling like I'm being selfish for finding joy in things like pureeing food, or finding cheap clothes for my children.

Sometimes, I really wish we could choose our family.

Cutie Kid

My husband is Catholic. I'm Anglican. Other than occasional teasing arguments about things like the Catholic Church being hypocritical for making "obscene wealth" one of the new deadly sins (seriously? 'pay us and we'll pray your dead loved one into heaven' and they're now outlawing being rich? HA! (and yes I realise they no longer do this, but I have to be able to tease my man about something.)), what this means is that he has a rosary, somewhere, and a crucifix that I feel uncomfortable with being up in the house (a plain cross would be fine, but a Jesus-figure feels idolatrous to me). So it isn't. Because he is a wonderful husband.

At the moment, as I have recently been pregnant and new-babied and am tired and exhausted and brain-fogged all the time, there is a bunch of stuff sitting on the hall table that needs to be put away, and the crucifix is part of the pile-o-stuff. Today the kid caught sight of it.

CRITTER: This is like the stone at church.
ME: What is like what stone at church honey?
C: THIS. It's like at church inside.
M: Ah.. yes, you're right, it is, and it's called a 'cross'.
C: Yeah and this is Jesus like how He died on the sad day (Good Friday. We discussed Easter this year and Good Friday has become The Sad Day, because He died, and death is sad. Kids are cute).
M: Thats right, He died on the cross, and on the Sunday He came back to life..
C: (interrupting) Yeah and so why do we have this?
M: Well when we see the cross it reminds us about when Jesus died and rose again, and how much God loves us to have done that for us.
C: Oh.. Mummy can I keep this in my room so I can remember Jesus all the time?


I told him he would have to ask daddy, because it's daddy's cross. He is totally adorable. And I'm impressed that he remembers so much about Easter. Usually things go in one ear and out the other with him until he's been told a few times.

Love

Babygirl is three months old. She's been wearing 3-6 months clothes for over a month. Her cheeks are still enormous, as are her eyes, and she still has an Amazing Magical Disappearing Tooth. Her stares are intense, and her eyes are still blue, though considering Critter's are so dark brown they're almost black, and Hubby's and mine are greeny-hazel, anything could still happen.

She seems to be quite happy, smiling as soon as she catches sight of anybody, or even if she doesn't. Many the time I've gone to check on her, to find that she's smiling at the light coming in through the window. She talks when she smiles, often as not, and loves to hear us imitate her noises. Gurgling at her is a sure way to see her amazing smile.

Steve is getting good use, and she often falls asleep in her rocker gripping it. She is also fascinated by the toys hanging from the rocker, and just might have realised her hand actually has a use - she hit one of the toys the other day and then spent the next half hour examining her hand and watching it hit the toys. Not sure if she's doing it deliberately, but she does seem to be aware that its happening.

She thinks the baby in the mirror is hilarious, when I can get her to actually look the right way. She coos and gurgles and smiles like crazy, loving the fact that this other baby talks and smiles right back at her. The other mummy in the mirror confuses her, but doesn't upset her. Which is good. I much prefer her smiles to The Sad Face.

For some reason she still outright refuses to poo during the night. Which is nice, because it means I don't have to change her a million times when I'm barely awake, but it does mean... explosions during the day. And baths in the sink. Which she really rather enjoyed until the water got too cold. For some reason my kids like their baths HOT.

Speaking of night time, I can not figure out her rhythm at all. Some nights she wakes as early as 12:30 for a feed, others she sleeps till 7am, or later. Doesn't seem to matter when she gets fed or bathed, she has her own crazy rhythm, and she's not letting us know what it is.

I love this baby girl so much it hurts. My boy is precious, and I would die, or kill for him in a heartbeat (isn't it terrifying the first time you realise that you are absolutely capable of kiling, if your baby is in danger? Gave me nightmares for weeks). I do not love Spaceghost any more than I love Critterbug, but it is different. He is my precious, gorgeous boy, my firstborn. She is my daughter, my baby, the one I never thought I would have. And my love for these two does not in anyway diminish the love I feel for the one resting in God's arms, who never got to rest in mine. The more there is to love, the more love there is to give.

I survived April without spiralling into the waiting blue, but the sadness lingers. Hugging my children helps. I think I'll go do that now.

Can't I Keep Her A Baby Forever?

I've just finished cleaning up an ENTIRE glass of milk from the floor.

Mr Snotface decided he didn't want to drink his milk this morning. I told him that was fine, but if he didn't drink it, he's obviously sick, and wont be going to preschool. So instead, I get "I have to go to the toilet." Classic excuse, one he uses a LOT to get out of things, but I can't take the chance that this time he's actually telling the truth - I really don't want to be the one that makes him poo in his pants because of some milk.

Since then, three things have happened, because he is being Mr Snotface today, instead of the sweet Critterbug I'd rather see:

• In his attitude laden stomping, he spilled the ENTIRE glass of milk, and then, despite being desperate to go to the toilet, he just stood there, staring at it. Not making any effort to clean it, or even ignoring it and continuing on his stomp to the bathroom. Just standing like a lump.

• He is now in his bedroom wailing hideously because I told him he has to wear a different shirt - I don't want him getting one of his only 2 unstained shirts covered in paint and marker at preschool. So he put the other one on, and screamed when I said "not that one please either" in a calm voice.

• I am now siting here praying for peace and patience, and that God will miraculously stop me from strangling him on the walk to school.

Are we absolutely certain theres no way to stop the aging process so I can stop Spaceghost before she gets to this point?



***UPDATE*** Imediately after posting this, what do I hear? He has turned the tap in the bathroom ALL THE WAY TO FULL to brush his teeth. Despite being told at least once a week that it is not to be turned that high. Somebody better calm down at school today.

The Cost of Clothing Babies

Last week, at just over 2 months of age (literally, 2 days past), my daughter Spaceghost graduated to 3-6 months jumpsuits for sleepwear. We could have continued to clothe her in 0-3 sleepers, but only if we left the crotch snaps undone to leave room for her cloth nappies (diapers) and cut off the feet. Despite the rolls on her thighs and wrists, and the Mega-Cheeks (tm), she is quite slender for her height (90th percentile height, 50th weight at her check last week. Critter is the same, only even more extreme - he needs size 4 or 5 for the length, but only size 1 around the waist), so separates still fit her in 0-3. In fact, her jeans are constantly falling off because the waist is too big for her, even though they look like capris, ending halfway up her calves.

My first thought? This girl is going to cost me a FORTUNE in clothes!!* My second? OP-SHOPS ROCK!!!

I try not to buy my kids' clothes full price if I can help it. There are times when its unavoidable. Like when they've pooed all over their clothes, and then vomited all over the spares, and the blankets got dirty too, so you HAVE to buy something so the poor little thing doesn't freeze. Critter did that to me a couple of times when he was tiny. Spaceghost hasn't. Yet. And I do like to buy them new clothes. I become overwhelmed with the cuteness of some of the little clothes I see in Kmart or Target or BigW.. like the two little tops I bought Spaceghost at Kmart the other week. Totally adorable. But honestly, theres nothing wrong with second hand, either.

At my local shops, there are three second hand stores. An Anglicare, a Vinnies (St. Vincent de Paul society), and a Smith Family. When I went by the other week, the Anglicare was having a 3-2-1 sale, to get rid of summer stock so they had room for winter stock, and everything in the store was $2.00 - thats 2 pair jeans and 1 overalls for Spaceghost, and jeans for Critter, for $8.00 - and on Saturday, everything was going to be $1.00. A shirt in Vinnies for Spaceghost at $2.50, and my shopping trip was complete. Not only that, they were in different sizes, so I already have things for when she grows, and she won't be dressed in the same thing as all the other kids her age, because they are previous seasons stock.

Even better, there is an Anglicare depot a few suburbs away from me, where they just have bins of clothing to go through yourself. Nothing is sorted in any way shape or form, but they sell the clothes BY THE KILOGRAM. This resulted in me picking up 12 items for the girl and 4 for the boy for $9.00 - went shopping with a friend, ended up with 3kg between us, and just split the cost. Some of the items were ever so lightly stained, but for 50c each, when they'd cost about $9.00 each new, who cares?

At the rate she's growing, clothing this girl of mine could cost a fortune, but it isn't going to. And anyone spending $20 for a shirt that will be outgrown in a matter of weeks needs their head examined.





*This would be even more true if I shopped at Pumpkin Patch, where a t-shirt for a 2 month old costs more than $20.00 - and they arent even the most expensive kids clothes around! Totally adorable, totally worth it at op-shop prices, never being bought full price in this house.

We are all individuals!!!

Spaceghost is 4 weeks old today. Due to being born in February, this means she is also one month old today. I know there is still a vast opportunity for change, but so far, she has been incredibly easier than Critterbug was.

For one, she actually feeds. Bra down, baby on, 25 minutes later she pulls off. Critterbug did not. Bra down, baby on, baby off, screaming, baby on, baby off, more screaming and flailing of arms and legs, baby on, choking, baby off, screaming, baby to daddy, formula out, baby drinks formula, mummy pumps milk while crying. Lather rinse repeat in 2-3 hours, replacing formula with expressed milk.

For another, she sleeps. Anywhere. Bed, car, pillow, floor, pram, someone's arms, bath... Critterbug would sleep in someones arms, but would awaken screaming the second he touched his bed. For months he slept in his pram, because it was the only thing that worked. Put him in the pram, walk him up and down the street for an hour or so, and leave him in the pram once he fell asleep. Spaceghost, on the other hand, will even put herself to sleep if she is put in her cradle after being changed and fed. I AM AMAZED.

Isn't it funny how we expect them to be the same? We recognise as adults that we are all individuals (I'm not!). Even as children, we recognise ourselves as our own separate people. I for one HATED being dressed in the same clothes as my little sister. We weren't even twins, and my mother dressed us the same. I hated it. Yet for some reason people often seem to expect subsequent babies to be the same as the first, just like I expected Spaceghost to be the same as Critter.

And I'm really not sure why, since even the pregnancies were vastly different. With the Critter, I had morning sickness till the day he was born (admittedly not as bad after the first 3 months, but decidedly still there - just nausea instead of run to the nearest container), and the nausea even lingered for some months after he was born. I didn't dare let myself feel hungry, because hunger would turn to nausea in a few minutes. With Spaceghost I think I was only actually sick three times. Critterbug demanded I eat nothing but cheerios and macca's chicken nuggets, Spaceghost couldn't abide sugar. Pre-eclampsia with my boy, perfectly normal with my girl. 4 hour labour ending in hemorrhage the first time, baby in distress leading to emergency c-section this time.

The fact that one is a boy and one a girl should stop me from treating Spaceghost as a little clone of the Critter, just in case the incredibly obvious personality differences weren't enough. I only hope if I am ever blessed with another (looking incredibly unlikely at the moment) I won't fall into the clone trap.

Because I'm having trouble thinking

A friend tagged me on facebook. This is supposed to test how much you remember about your firstborn.



1. WAS YOUR FIRST PREGNANCY PLANNED? no.... very much no.

2. WERE YOU MARRIED AT THE TIME? not when we got pregnant.. he proposed the night we found out, and we got married when we were 6 months along

3. WHAT WERE YOUR REACTIONS? tears. swearing. fear.

4. WAS ABORTION AN OPTION FOR YOU? absolutely not.

5. HOW OLD WERE YOU? 21. i turned 22 a month before he was born

6. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT YOU WERE PREGNANT? i peed on a stick. isnt that the usual way? ok ok.. i'd been feeling ill for a couple weeks, but since i had a cough, i assumed i was sick. then i realised i was late, and we freaked out. thats when the stick came into play.

7. WHO DID YOU TELL FIRST? boyfriend (now husband).

9. DUE DATE? sep. 18 2004. or possibly sep 28 2004. they couldnt make up their minds.

10. DID YOU HAVE MORNING SICKNESS? you mean the part where i had to leap out of bed over my fiance in the middle of the night to make it to the bathroom to avoid vomiting all over the bed? yes. i had that.

11. WHAT DID YOU CRAVE? mcdonalds chicken nuggets. at one point they were all i could keep down.

12. WHO/WHAT IRRITATED YOU THE MOST? i really dont know..

13. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CHILD'S SEX? beautiful little boy.

14. DID YOU WISH YOU HAD THE OPPOSITE SEX OF WHAT YOU WERE GETTING? no, but i THOUGHT i was probably going to get a girl. boys seem to be a bit uncommon in my family.

15. HOW MANY KILOS DID YOU GAIN THROUGHOUT THE PREGNANCY? 25kg (55lb)

16. DID YOU HAVE A BABY SHOWER? nooooooooo

17. WAS IT A SURPRISE OR DID YOU KNOW? gender? surprise.

18. DID YOU HAVE ANY COMPLICATIONS DURING YOUR PREGNANCY? pre-eclampsia.

19. WHERE DID YOU GIVE BIRTH? royal prince alfred

20. HOW MANY HOURS WERE YOU IN LABOR? 4. he came fast.

21. WHO DROVE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL? hubby. went in for an appointment, and they decided to keep me and induce me.

22. WHO WATCHED YOU GIVE BIRTH? hubby, and a couple midwives. the only doctors i saw were one who stitched me up, and one who put in a canula.

23. WAS IT NATURAL OR C-SECTION? natural.

24. DID YOU TAKE MEDICINE TO EASE THE PAIN? i had 2 panadeine - i believe in the states this is called tylenol3? paracetamol (acetaminophen - tylenol) and codeine. and i didnt get it until i was pushing. they forgot to give it to me.

25. HOW MUCH DID YOUR CHILD WEIGH? 3.795kg (8lb 6oz)

26. WHEN WAS YOUR CHILD ACTUALLY BORN? 29th sep 2004

27. WHAT DID YOU NAME HIM/HER? critterbug. duh.

28. HOW OLD IS YOUR FIRST BORN TODAY? 4yrs, 4months, 26days

Five years ago today...

... my life ended. Sounds dramatic, I know, but it really did.

I was 21, twelve-thousand km (seven-thousand+ miles) from home, had very little family nearby (none of it immediate family), was unmarried, and had just found out I was pregnant. I was totally in love with my boyfriend, but terrified he was going to take one look at that evil little stick and run away. My life was over. I cried so hard it hurt.

Life started again within minutes. Boyfriend didn't want to run. He still loved me, wanted to keep the baby, and proposed on the spot. I kept on crying, but it was happier tears now.

But it was a different life.

My old life really did end. The life of Young-Sarah. No major responsibilities, always enough money, time to have fun. A carefree life, and one that matched my friends'. We weren't living in the same country, but anytime I went 'home' I would fit right in, we would have things in common. We could go out and do silly things. Stay out in the city till five AM and catch a cab home. Spend all day on the beach and eat whatever we wanted for dinner. And boyfriend and I could do whatever we wanted. We could stay up all night playing video games. Spontaneously decide to go to a museum 3 hours away from home. Drive to Vegas for the weekend with no prior planning. Go to the movies every night for a week. Not any more.

I think I like my new life better. Filled with cuddles and the smell of new baby, tiny clothes on the clothesline, and terry towel nappies scattered through the house. Brightly coloured toys that make far too much noise, and long nights in bed with a small body snuggled against me. A 'big boy' intent on teaching his sister to play soccer, and tiny hands eager to help with anything sister-related. Prayers to look after 'the baby', even though she now has a name, and a four year old's arms anxiously waiting to hold her.

My life ended February 16th 2004, and I've never been gladder.

attack of the dumb

my son has been suddenly rendered stupid, and i dont know why.

i dont know if he's just Being Four, if he's tired, or if theres something wrong with him that makes him incapable of thinking after about 4:30pm.

he's a smart boy. he knows left from right, can whistle in tune, he can read his alphabet, knows the associated sounds with most of the letters (although hes been doing weird things there lately too), and can read any number under 100. he's constantly telling me how much things cost when we're at the shops. and yet, today, its all flying out the window.

for a start he's insisting on reading everything from right to left, and upon being told to read from the left, he asked which way that was. i stared at him until he stopped being silly. then he insisted that the number 4-0 is one he doesnt know. he knows every other number except that one. it took 5 minutes to get him to call it 'forty-oh' and upon being told theres no such number, silly person, he looked at me as if ive grown another head. we then had a conversation like this:

me: forty-oh isnt a number. listen to the other numbers. if 2-0 is twenty, and 3-0 is thirty, and 5-0 is fifty, what is 4-0?
critter: um.... forty-oh.
me: no. you arent listening. if 3-0 is thirty, and 5-0 is fifty, what is 4-0?
critter: forty-oh?
me: no. go to your bedroom and sit down and think about it, and then come and tell me what number 4-0 is. (because at this point, after a day of him refusing to be more than 2 feet away from me at any given moment, including getting up and running after me and trying to open the door when i was ON THE TOILET to find out what i was doing; and telling me every 2.8 seconds to LOOK AT ME when im already watching him; and mummy? mummy. mummy. muuuuuuuummy. mummy? MUMMY!!!!! muuuuuuuummyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, im ready to scream, and quite frankly 5 minutes of him being elsewhere will stop all sorts of things from happening)
critter: I DONT WANT TO!! (as he's running to his room)

this continued for another ten minutes or so, with him intermittently coming out and telling me that he doesnt know any numbers, and me telling him to go back to his room and think.

eventually it got to the point where i couldnt take it any more.

me: what number is 3-0?
critter: thirty
me: SO WHAT NUMBER IS 4-0!!!
critter: forty (looking at me as if he's been telling me that the whole time)


he is so lucky. i was on the verge of shutting all the doors and going to bed, leaving him to fend for himself till daddy gets home at about midnight.

a rose by any other name...

my son, critterbug, knows mummy and daddy's names. occasionally he calls us by them, which results in hard looks. and usually confuses me for a couple seconds, since i am almost never called by my name.

my husband almost never calls me by name. i get 'love', 'honey', 'babe', 'sweetheart', 'darling', anything like that. 'sarah' is usually (recently) if he hears a bang and thinks ive fallen over, or in a fit of exasperation because i havent heard him calling/talking to me. or when ive called him by name in a fit of exasperation, and he retaliates. because i dont call him by name either. not to his face. talking about him to other people i will, but talking TO him... no. its weird.

but not because his name doesnt fit him. it does. when i look at him, i dont think he has the wrong name. some people dont seem to fit their names. you meet someone called george and just go 'no... you should be alex'. i never thought i should be sarah. playing make believe as a child, i always renamed myself emma. i still sometimes think my mum gave me the wrong name - i was named after my great-grandmother, sarah emma. something i didnt know when i wanted to be emma.

critterbug's name fits him, too. both critter, which we do actually call him, and his real name. one of the first things we did when we found out we were going to have him (after a few weeks of numb 'i must be dreaming, because this is an absolute nightmare' and terror, followed by terror of a different sort when i thought i might be miscarrying), was to buy a baby name book. we went through it and picked out the names we liked, and settled on a girl's name and a boy's name, since we werent going to find out what the baby was till it was born.

we found out we were pregnant in february, the due date was september, and the names were picked sometime before june. i know that, because we moved to australia in june, and the names were picked long before then.

this time... we still really like the girl's name we didnt get to use, and are keeping that. we've decided to use family names (as in names from family members, not surnames/last names) as middle names, so where critter gets 'lee', from hubby's father's middle name, the girl's name gets 'jacqueline', my paternal grandmother's middle name. even though my cousin already used it on his baby. WE HAD IT PICKED OUT FIRST!!! ahem. anyway.

the problem we're coming up against is boy's names. like i said, we had critter's names picked by the time i was 6 months, and weve been holding onto a girl's name for the past 4.5 years, but at 8 months, we still cannot come to a conclusion on boy's names. keeping with the family thing, the middle name will be 'dan' or 'daniel', after my maternal grandfather, depending on which fits with the first name better... but thats where we hit a dilemma. we have 4 names we like, and none of them are jumping out at us. ive always liked 1, but hubby insists he will call the baby by a nickname i cant stand if we pick that. im not sure if hes joking or not. we both like 2, but neither of us like the inevitable aussie shortening, which WILL happen. again, we both like 3, but dont like where everyones mind jumps at the mention of it. (nothing dirty!! just the inevitable 'oh.. from XYZ-movie??') he originally picked out 4, and i was skeptical. the more i think about it, the more i like it, but now he isnt sure if he still likes it, and insists he was joking when he picked it. he says he likes it, but its too oldfashioned.

we are doomed, and the baby, if male, will be 'spaceghost' on its birth certificate, im sure.

why did i sign up for another one?

things are not so cheery in the house of kaeus right now. the critter has always been strong. both physically (pushed himself up on his arms to look around the room less than an hour after birth. the midwife was surprised), and strong willed. lately the strong willed part has become... excessive. he will not do a single thing he is asked/told, and resists any and every form of discipline, right down to "look at me when im talking to you please."

and its driving me insane.

he has a pair of sunglasses. he's not allowed to wear them inside the house. he went and grabbed them a few minutes ago and sat down to watch TV with them on. i asked him to take them off please and give them to me, because we dont wear sunglasses in the house. he took them off, and put them next to him on the couch. so i asked for them again. he looked at me and grinned. i stood up to turn off the TV and he started shouting NO!! NOOOOOOOOO!! and nearly threw them at me trying to stop me from turning off the TV. and after i got it turned off, he turned it on again. discipline ensued. so did screaming. im sure the neighbours think im a child abuser the way he screams if i so much as take a toy out of his hand.

and it happens all the time.

it started getting more frequent a couple months back, and its got to the point that he is being sent to his room at least once a day, EVERY SINGLE DAY.

every child has off days. every child has off moments on good days. every child has tantrums when they get over tired/over stimulated.

not every child has them every single day, only an hour after waking up.

not every child has to be taken out of church because they wont stop swinging a rope around their head, and tries to hit their mother and take the rope back when it is taken away in an effort to get the child to calm down.

not every child... right? tell me it wont necessarily happen again when spaceghost is 4. tell me this is a phase.. that its hormonal.. that despite his apparent enthusiasm, he's acting up out of jealousy over the as-yet-unborn-new-baby.. that he will go back to only occasional tantrums and be generally sweet natured again.. because i really dont want one of Those children.

thats what i like to hear

conversation this morning with the kid, while i wsa in the shower:

"mummy, are we going shopping today?"

"no sweetheart, we're going to go to church."

"CHURCH???????????? WOOHOO!!!!! yippee!!!!!!!!!"

and then he skipped out of the room whooping and clapping.


enthusiastic much?

they grow up too fast

my son turned 4 in september. and already, he hardly needs me at all.

he can:

• brush his own teeth
• wipe after using the toilet (YAY. one of my least favourite jobs)
• use the toilet on his own
• wash his hands WITH SOAP on his own
• climb into, and out of, the bathtub ON HIS OWN
• change the channel on the tv
  
• load the dvd player
• put away cutlery and crockery (except knives)
• wash dishes
• put away his clothes
• get dressed (including socks and shoes)
  
• draw a spaceship
• draw an elevator (!!!!)
• beat me at bowling on the nintendo wii
• race daddy in driving games on the wii
• write his own name
• recognise all letters, and the sounds that go with most of them
• almost read basic words like cat and dog (he read 'stop' a few weeks back, but then regressed)
  
• read numbers up to 99. he constantly tells me how much things at the shops cost - with 100% accuracy
  

he hardly needs me at all.

• i cook his food and pour his drinks, but he grows like a weed and soon he'll be tall enough and strong enough that he'll be able to get his own drinks and find food in the fridge if he's hungry.
  
• i wash his clothes, but he knows what buttons to push to start the machine, so he really only needs me to put the laundry powder in, get the clothes out of the machine, and hang them up - hes not that tall yet. if we had a front loader, he'd only need me for the laundry powder, which is stored about 6 feet up, because he can hang things on the rack inside.
  
• i turn on the taps for his bath, because he hasnt figured out how to balance the heat yet.
  
• i change the sheets on his bed, but hes getting pretty good at that, only the corners give him trouble.
  
• i push the start button on the dvd remote, but he'll figure that out soon enough and he wont need me at all.

except when he wakes up in the middle of the night in tears because of a dream he cant remember, and nothing will comfort him except for mummy's cuddles.

the baby, it is trying its hardest to make my life suck.

yesterday around lunch time, as i was sitting on the couch checking my email and bank account and all those fun things, i felt a sudden, horrible, sharp pain in my side-ish type area. it actually made me jump. im not sure if it made me yelp. the cat didnt move, but there was no-one else here to tell me if i made a noise. there were a few more stabs, then it stopped. i started to worry at this point. pain down near my pelvis doesnt bother me. if i move wrong, random stomach muscles hurt, and ive become pretty good at not doing that. although sometimes i forget, stretch, and lie in agony for a second or five. but this was entirely different. the ouchy-muscle-pain, while sudden and brief, is.. dull. this felt like someone was stabbing me with a sharpened knitting needle. on fire.

when i was sure the pain wasnt coming back, i went to the bathroom to make sure there was no blood, and then took my temperature. all fine. then i sat for a while praying that spaceghost would move so i knew it was ok, and the obliging little creature played football with my bladder for a while and tried in vain to break my ribs (haha!! youre not big enough to reach yet!!), so i stopped worrying. i was going to the hospital tomorrow (yesterday's tomorrow - today) anyway, and would ask them about it then.

then about 5:30 last night as i was lying on the bed talking to my sweetheart as he was getting changed after he got home from work, the burning knitting needle re-appeared. right about smack-bam in the gap between my ribs. a few times. hubby asked me if i was sure it wasnt contractions (dear man.. labour to me feels like period pain that wont stop till the baby pops out. this was most definitely NOT period pain), and did i need to go see a doctor RIGHT NOW. but again, it went away, and i was sure id be fine. after all, i was going to the hospital tomorrow, and if something was wrong, they'd sort it out. but i did decide that if it happened again i was going to a doctor regardless.

so i went in to the hospital today for my checkup with the midwives. my blood pressure was fine (thankyou God), fundal height is fine, baby's heartbeat sounded fine, baby was feel-able (spaceghost's limbs are on the right.. which explains why the little wriggler never kicks me on the left, and goes INSANE if i lie on my right side) but they were concerned about the pain, so after i got weighed and did the protein/urine test, they asked me to stay and see one of the hypertension doctors, instead of waiting for my hypertension clinic appointment in two weeks. i guess the doctors were concerned enough without seeing me, and there was protein (ugh) so i had to do blood tests (three vials), and put off the glucose till next time, and i had to make an appointment for day-stay "either tomorrow, or the next day", and have another ultrasound while i'm there.

tomorrow i have to get up far too early so i can be at the hospital by 8am. my husband is going to be late for work, because theres no WAY i can organise myself to get a bus there by that time, so he's going to drop me off, then drive all the way back to our suburb to drop off the kid at preschool, and then make his way to work. and i have to stay there for a few hours while they monitor my blood pressure and blah blah blah. done it all before with critterbug. i was in and out of that hospital just about every week being told my blood pressure was too high, oh wait now its normal, oops no its high again..

but i was hoping to avoid all this for at least another month. im only 26 weeks. im sure i was at least 30 when it started with my critter. and the fact that its starting earlier, and has the added burning knitting needle pains.. is worrying me. just a little.

this wriggly baby spaceghost is not cooked enough to come out, so nothing better be horribly wrong with me. and i cant be put on bedrest.. i have to be mobile to look after my critterbug.

please please please let this be a false alarm.

God does not do the sermons at my church

theres a man sitting about 2 feet away from me, who am incredibly thankful for. even though he hasnt responded to a single thing ive said in the last half hour. hes paying much more attention to his own computer. but hes cute when he concentrates, so thats ok. dont tell him i said that.

ive just finished watching an article on 60minutes about the idiotic things kids do, driving too fast. something they mentioned is that the human brain is not fully developed until the age of 25. this means that not only was i still a child when my son was born (i was 22.. i guess im just barely an adult now, at 26), so was my husband. he was 24. and i can believe it. i saw him do some pretty dumb things in the year or so we were together before critter happened. matter of fact i remember doing some dumb things myself. like driving around with my mates during our lunch break, with 7 or 8 of us in a station wagon - one lying down in the boot, 4 squished on the back seat. the front seat was a bench, so three of us fit. at least we werent driving too fast.

but it got me thinking about how grateful i am for him. not simply the fact that none of those dumb things ever got the better of him, but everything. he works hard to provide for us. hes a great cook. he does the dishes. he makes cute faces when hes concentrating (dont tell him i said that). and he loves me, for some reason, just the way i am.

most of my friends are stick insects. they eat too much salad, and work out all the time. i used to look like them, somehow without the salads and working out (oh the lucky 16 yr old me who could eat 4 quarterpounders, 20chicken nuggets, 3 large fries and a thickshake.. in about half an hour. and still look like a twig). not so much anymore. a slowing metabolism and pregnancy has added a fair amount of pudge. and he doesnt mind. "you look like a girl. girls are supposed to be soft and curvy." i look at my ever-expanding, baby-enclosing stomach in the mirror, and i hate it. i still dont think i look pregnant, just fat. i think of my skinny friends, and i wish i looked like them again. "why would you want to look like her? you can see her bones. its gross." (for the record, this 'bony' friend is not extreme.. she doesnt look anorexic by any means, but you can see her hips bones when shes in a swimsuit.) he doesnt mind the stretch marks. he doesnt mind the scars. he doesnt even see the things that bother me the most. if pressed he admits that i could "maybe lose a little weight, for your health. but you look perfect to me."

i dont know why God has given me this amazing man, who is so perfect for me. a friend of mine, who i fancied when i was younger, likes his women skinny. his family rates his girlfriends on the SII - the Stick Insect Index. God didnt give me that man, or any of the other men i knew. he gave me the one that was a match for me. the one i had to travel to the other side of the world to meet.

the one who gave me the cutest child in the world.

last week, in church, i reminded critter that we have to be quiet, so we can hear what the minister is saying, when he tells us about God. when the minister started talking, after the first hymn, critter stood up, straining to see to the front over the heads of the other parishioners. he turned to me with the hugest eyes i've ever seen and said "mummy! is that GOD???" not the best thing to say to a pregnant woman. i nearly wet my pants and had an asthma attack at the same time.

all because of this wonderful match God made.

i neeeed to coooooooooook

well i never got to make the musli bars the other day.

i discovered we were out of choc chips (in this house? when i grab a handful to snack on every couple of days? what a surprise!) and gave up. then i decided maybe i'd just use extra sultanas instead. so i got all psyched up for musli bars.... and then discovered we have no dried apricots either.

and i could cope with low-choc/high-sultana, but NO APRICOTS EITHER? no thank you very much.

so im going to have another attempt at chocolate custard/choc pudding. we've always called it pudding, but its really just custard with cocoa in it.. pudding is really more cakey...

i just have to remember to add more milk and more sugar this time. and see if the kid can actually help, or if he'll just be obnoxious the whole time and not let me have the spoon. i dont like screaming fits.