20 things only a mother of an infant can understand

Being a new mum to a new baby is a tough task. It is all about sleep deprivation, being needed 24/7 and feeling like you still don't know quite what you are doing. Here is a compilation of new experiences for me from the past 11 weeks...

1. Hallucinating baby cries when in fact the little man is sound asleep in his bassinet. Even sometimes "hearing" baby cries when he is in your arms happily eating away at the boob.

2. Constantly caressing your own boobs to identify if it is food time for the tiny being and if it is, which side to give him to gnaw on.

3. Packing 10 changes of clothes for the baby when you are staying over at your in-laws, but only one change for yourself (which is quickly covered in sweat, tears, fresh and regurgitated boob milk) and no jammies.

4.  Wanting to enjoy the time you are able to go to the shops on your own whilst hubby has the little guy but constantly feeling like you might have left him in a store somewhere.

5. Trying to come up with new a fun responses for when friends, family and random people on the street tell you how adorable your child is but only responding with the same thing "yep, when he's not screaming, he's quite cute".

6. Or what about when they say how well you are looking and you have to question are they lying or did you always look this disheveled, fat, tired and overwhelmed. Seriously if you could see my stomach you would not be saying some positive things, that body part is what horror movies are made of.

7. Feeling like you are presentable because this shirt only smells a little bit like vomit. It seems like I am often saying "Pfft, who cares, I can go to the shops/walk/park like this" when really the thought should be "I think this top belongs in the washing basket... wait when was the last time I brushed my hair...?"

8. Not wanting to be intimate in your partner because you never felt less sexy in your life and you don't want to put him through that kind of trauma of having to pretend to appreciate your body.

9. Constantly stressing over when another human did a poo; what colour was it? what was the consistency? how much was there? did it smell? Oh crap did he just put his foot in it?!!!

10. Not being able to say what time you will be anywhere because "it all depends on the baby".

11. Trying not to obsessively compare the little person to what the internet says he should be doing/what size he should be... but doing so anyway.

12. Constantly talking to the mute baby as if he can understand everything you say and interpreting his silence, gurgles or cries as legitimate responses.

13. When your little person sleeps a little longer in the night, but you have been awake since 1am because your body is so used to waking every three hours it does it without prompting.

14. Trying super duper hard to be content with just sorting half a load of laundry today when your list of things to do was longer than this blog post. 

15. Knowing that your partner will never quite understand what it means to be on-call 24/7 to a small person whilst still making the house run smoothly and therefore why he complains every time you take him away from his computer/nap/sports to do something like hang out the washing... but wishing that he would so you could stop feeling like you have an extra child.

16. Watching this weird mini being sleep, kick, swing or stare at nothing for as long as he will let you.

17. Experiencing a bond and connection different from any other and being amazed at the effect he can have on your heart.

18. Having a meal with your partner and realising your days are consumed by being a parent so the most exciting thing you can add to the conversation is that you tried to new nappies and they were no good.

19. Getting sheer enjoyment from dressing the small person in cute clothes and distributing photos of him to all your contacts no matter how uninterested they are.

20. And finally... knowing there is never going to be anything quite as wonderful in the world as when the baby smiles at you with his whole face...

Having a newborn

Having a newborn is like having scrambled eggs where your brain should be;
Like everyone is speaking another language and you can't think clearly;
Or constantly having the car radio up loud when you are trying to find an address
Whilst someone is talking to you and your windscreen is a mess.

Having as newborn is planning your outfits around how easily accessible your boob is;
It's not knowing what time you will be there as you don't know when he will be in a tizz;
It's being comfortable with screaming, everyone seeing your boobs and curious strangers
Even when you are so fed up and people talking to you is something that angers.

Having a newborn is doing twenty-five things at once but not finishing a thing;
It's forgetting if you washed the shampoo out before you put the conditioner in;
And it's about trying to prioritise and make a list of what needs to be done;
Then remembering you haven't eaten, looking for food, opening the fridge and seeing none.

Having a newborn is catching those little flickers of smiles and glints in their eyes;
It's remembering those tender, rare moments when all he seems to do is cries;
It's knowing he recognises you because he kicks and coos when you go to his bed
Or when he grabs onto your clothes and nuzzles under your chin with his little head.

The Magical Balance

The midwifes tell me that when a baby sleeps for a longer period, they pay you back with sleeping less at another time. I see it as a magical (and evil) balance. It means that if you have a great night with your baby and he sleeps for five hours in the night, hold back from rejoicing and thinking the silly bubba has turned a corner. Because the following hours or day he will pay you back.

In all fairness there is some logic to this. Babies need to wake up because they need to eat. If they din't wake up, they still need the same amount of calories each 24 hours. That doesn't mean having a bigger breakfast, baby's stomach is still no bigger than their tiny little fist. Silly babies might eat more but that is never the end of it. No sir-ee, when they eat more than their tummies can take, their tummies reject the extra and the extra ends up on mummy's shirt and shoulder.

And so the balance plays out. We get the good with the bad. I get a good baby at night, so the magical balance says I can get a screamy-mc-screamy baby during the day. But don't feel sorry for those parents who feel they have a difficult infant all the time, well the balance (and old wives tales) would predict that they get a great toddler.

I think the same goes for my mental health.

Having a baby is no easy business. After the little person exits your body, he leaves behind a wreck! It is not pretty place. My stomach is wobbly and scarred, my waist has gone, my thighs (which were too big to begin with) feel like they will never fit into a pair of pants that were not made for clown costume! Ew! The other side of the ew is the crazy brain craziness. The hormones get mixed with the sleep deprivation and turmoil ensues. When that plays with my long standing depression, my mood is expectedly a up and down roller coaster.

I am coming to learn that my mood has a magical balance as well. One good day equals one bad day and similar equations. Between Tiny Human and me, sometimes they balances mirror each other, sometimes they impact each other, other times there is no correlation - they follow their own pattern of balance.

In short...

Good Luck

How much do you weigh?

In our society weight is such a taboo subject to talk about. We might discuss diets and exercise and health food but disclose the number on the scales nuh uh we don't do that... with a few exceptions.

Firstly if you have lost a lot of weight and are really proud of the figure staring back at you when you step on the scales then you may mention that figure. But unsurprisingly I'm not commenting on that today.

I want to chat about the second exception to the role: when you are pregnant. Weighing yourself is part of the frequent check ups and gets recorded on your little yellow card. You question how much is too much? How will you lose it? How much of that is baby? 

At 41 weeks I weighed 102kg. It was painful to see the number rise above 100. Logically I knew that I was growing a human being and my body had changed to support that growth. I knew I was eating fairly healthy. And I knew that a great deal of that was water and baby related fluid. Also my midwife wasn't concerned about the steady gains. Rational thought doesn't mean anything to former anorexic who was already over conscious of her 80kgs before she got pregnant.

Now that Tiny Human is outside my body the scales remain an evil enemy. My scales says 90kg and my body says ew! Now I hate my icky body but there is little I can do about it. Dieting is not quite recommended when one is breastfeeding. In fact it is recommended that new breastfeeding mums don't lose more than one kilo a month! A month!!!! That means by the time the little guy turns one, I would be back to my pre-baby weight, which was too heavy already. Of course I don't need to listen to this guideline, but I do have to eat enough to produce good quality and a good quantity of milk.

My weight and body will continue to be a topic on my mind until I can gain some kind of control of it. Whilst I struggle with the high number on the scale when I step on it, I will also be forced to obsess about the number that blinks back at me when I put Kingsley on the scale.

The last exception to the "don't talk about weight" rule is that of a new born. It's one of the first stats mentioned when he first comes out and everyone wants to know. Then weighing your bub becomes a weekly obsession. It also feels like a direct reflection of me and my ability to look after my child especially because I'm breast feeding.

Kingsley was a big baby at 4.56 and was long rather than chubby. His size was talked about with every midwife at the hospital and by every visitor and well wisher from our lives. This initially didn't bother me one bit. It was kind of fun to have this large baby that people wanted to talk about. 

Then he got weighed on discharge at 4.35 and I was pleased that he had lost so little weight. Why was I pleased? It could have been because it meant he was healthy but it was most likely because it made me feel like I was doing something right. As a breastfeeding mum, it meant that I was able to provide enough for my bubba to avoid him losing too much of his fat stores.

Then we got home and things changed a little. He was weighed a few times and suddenly it looked like his weight had gone down. What was this about? What had I done wrong? How was I failing my child? Why was my body not doing what it meant to do my bubba? These are the things that ran through my mind. It was all about me. My child's weight was a direct refection of me and my ability to care for him. Everything I did was called into question.

Almost a week later, things were not much better and again I was doubting myself. Was I not enough? Would I have to give up on breastfeeding? It seemed to cut to my core. Why is that?

A few weeks ago a friend of mine had a stranger comment on a picture of her son. The stranger said her son looked malnourished and she should feed him. This random comment felt like a direct attack on her and she opened up about her birth story and the days following in which feeding her son was more than a challenge due to the complications in birth. She felt she needed to defend herself and comment on just how touchy the topic of food and her child is. It highlighted for me the pressure on parents (especially mother's?) to ensure their child is growing and putting on weight as they should (or as other's perceive they should?).

So, when I weighed my son on Monday and he came in at 4.72 it felt like I was vindicated. I had fed my son and given him what he needed. I was being a good mother. I was providing for my child.

As I work to make the number decrease when I step on a scale and try even harder to make sure the number increases when the baby is weighed I want to remind myself to take it easy... but I know I won't. These are the pressures of being a woman and a mother in our society. And the added pressure of my high expectations on myself. 

How much do you weigh?

Random parenting thoughts: the first 2 weeks

So, my understanding was this...

Newborns do nothing but eat, poop, cry and sleep.

It was not stressed to me that infants do not know how to sleep and they need to be taught... taught how to sleep? How the crappers do you do that? I don't remember learning how to sleep, how am I supposed to know how to teach it. Unfortunately for mummy and daddy Mr Tiny Human is not a fast learner.

If I can offer some advice to a any new mums out there that is impossible for you to act on, I would suggest you don't get a cold right after having your stomach cut open! Coughing, sneezing and blowing your nose is so impossibly painful when you have layers of stitches in your belly.

Ew, I smell... perhaps I should shower? When did I last shower? Crappers is that the baby waking? Yep, shower will have to wait.... 2 days later... Ew, I smell etc.

How much crying is too much crying? How much crying is from fatigue and how much is due to wanting to go back in time to when you were 25 carefree, unattached and childless? Then I could sleep when I want, eat when I want... get drunk and be hungover, throw up everywhere and have no one to worry about except my own sorry ass!

PAUSE typing I hear the baby...

So... I started writing this when Kingsley was 2 weeks old, then I got distracted and suddenly he is 3 weeks old tomorrow. This a reflection of how much free time I have.

TMI: one of the fun things that happens after childbirth is bleeding. What makes the bleeding so much more exciting are maternity pads. These things are crazy thick and long! Unsurprisingly, these mammoth pads do not breathe so irritation comes along with the territory. Crazy cool fun!

OMG my back! My crazy huge baby is killing me! At almost a full kilo bigger than the average Australian newborn, my not so Tiny Human is a real test to my back and shoulders when I am lifting, settling and feeding. His head alone gives my arm cramps when feeding! What am I supposed to do when he gets heavier?

I love my pram! Love, love, love! Good pick Tara! Go you.

Sleep is hard to come by with a newborn. One does not suddenly get more sleep, one gets used to the deprivation.

I am so anxious about the baby waking up that I hallucinate and hear him when he is not crying!

What's in a name?

What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.

Ah Mr Shakespeare my dear, did you name your children or was that the role of your wife? Because Mr Famous Playwrighter Man, names are so important and send messages about someone before they have even been sighted. I wonder if you stressed over what to name your characters in your plays? Thinking about what the name meant? who you knew of with that name? how it might be received by the audience? did it sound sweet and romantic or cold and brooding? Little Miss Juliette may not have changed her perception of her dear Romeo just because he was a Montague and still love him endlessly, however a name tells a story and is something that is difficult for parents all over the world.

What it comes to naming a child the challenge is set out for you, there are endless criteria to meet and options to be gathered. My selection process focused on these most important factors...

1. It had to be suitable for a newborn. Some old man name like Barry was never going to meet that need.
2. It had to be cool on the school playground. Some names sound so cute and cuddly on littlies but dreadful for the 9 year old who is struggling to fit in with his peers.
3. It had to be suitable for a CEO when he is 40. So nothing too out there, it had be strong and masculine.
4. Chris had to approve.
5. It had to have more than one syllable... just because I don't like one syllable names.

My Grandfather, Earl Kingsley Sheehan loved tracing his family line and tells me that as far back as he can see all Sheehan and before that Barlett men had Kinglsey as their middle name. It had been passed down for generations, most recently from him to my father then to my elder brother, Adam Lyndon Kingsley Sheehan.

With that tradition in mind, we began to toy with the idea of Kingsley as a first name. Google tells me;

The name Kingsley is an English baby name. In English the meaning of the name Kingsley is: From the king's wood/meadow. Used as a first name since the 19th century.

Other suggestions where thrown around, but never caught on so for most of his time in my belly, Tiny Human was also thought of as Kingsley.

The second name posed it's own challenges...

1. It could not start with K... otherwise his initals would be KKK... that would not be okay!
2. It would also be okay for his initals to be KOK.
3. I wanted it to have some meaning for Chris, as Kinglsey was coming from my side of the family.
4. It was not approved to be James. Originally this is what was in my head. Not becuase it was Chris' middle name but because it had a nice sound to it... Kingsley James Kolenko. But a week before Tiny Human was going to make his appearance, Chris decided this was okay. James as his middle name and he didnt want to share.

For a day or two random names were tossed around: Jude, Artis, Joshua, Julian, Liam, Louis.... then Chris suggested flipantly mentioned Peter. Kinglsey Peter Kolenko. This could work.

For Chris, Peter was his cousin whom he was close to add a child and young adolescent. Sadly, Peter died when Chris was 14 and Peter just 19 in a motor vehicle accident. Using Peter's name was a way to honor the sport his cousin had offered Chris and connection they had had.

In a fun twist, I also have a cousin named Peter. I could count the amount of times I've seen him on one hand as his mother did not get along with my father. So no disrespect, but the name is not connected to him. I mention all this because he comes from the Sheehan side of the family and his middle name is Kingsley making him Peter Kingsley. We decided this would just be a weird coincidence and stick with it anyway.

And so, Tiny Human was named Kinglsey Peter Kolenko.

... now for a nickname...

A baby is born

Birthing is a very odd experience. no amount of classes, videos or stories from other people can quite prepare you for it. So when I went into labour at midnight, Friday 14th October the reality of the journey was only starting to unfold.

Labour is happening, here comes Tiny Human
When the contractions started it took me about an hour to really recognise what happening. I downloaded an app to clarify my suspicions. It showed that I was having contractions every 6-7 minutes lasting for up to a minute. At about 5:30 when I heard Chris stir, I let him know the happenings. We both got a bit giddy. I was nervous laughing at everything! We called both our parents in our nervous excitement and arranged for Chris' parents to come over in a few hours to take care of the little ones.

Then is fabuloous thing happened... it all kind of stopped. Turns out this super normal ladies. Not only will labour start and stop as it pleases, but it is not unusual for women to be in labour for three days or so with their first bub (I don't remember hearing this at by baby school classes.

I managed to help things progress by going for a walk with Chrissy. I got things moving again... then it stopped. Chris' parents came, the girls went to gymnastics... we had brunch... and things stopped and started as they pleased to make my day super wonderful. The girls went off to stay the night with Grandma Lorraine and Grandpa Joe with dreams of having a little brother today or tomorrow.

Wonderfully, by about 3 in the afternoon - after another walk with Chrissy - my contractions were as close as 2 minutes and intensifying. Alright, we were on! This baby was coming... We did go into the hospital to get checked over and on the way my waters broke! Cooking with fire! Tiny Human was planning his entrance.

False alarm.

Not only was my "waters breaking" me having a large mucus discharge, but when we got to the hospital everything stopped. No more baby coming. Tiny Human was playing jokes on us. We were sent home to "rest". I can only guess the number of women who have been sent home to "rest" whilst in the early stages of labour did just that... 0! How you rest in between irregular contracts, nervous excitement and that annoying feeling that this is never going to happen? Well Restavit was the only way it was happening for me!

Waters are breaking, here comes Tiny Human
... until I woke up in a pool of clear liquid that was not sweat. EW! I woke Chris up to get me a towel so I could grab some of the fluid before it flooded the bed. Now, because I could not remember anything the midwife had told me about when to come back in, we called the hospital to check if waters actually breaking was something we should be interested in...

Come in, they said. At least so we check you out and send you back home. So after i ad a wonderful shower for half an hour and continued to spill clear, weird liquid from my vagina, we groggily wandered back into Royal Hospital for Women with the belief that we would not be there for long. As you read on you will see that all of my thoughts and guestimations were wrong!

Rest up
This time, I was right. My waters had gone. Woohoo. We were getting this show on the road... nope. My contractions were now about 10 minutes apart. This is of no interest to people in the world of getting babies out of vaginas. Suddenly water breaking meant very little. Except that I was already a week overdue and it would be useful to get the party started. My options a) start syntocion drip now to get the body thinking it really was in labour or b) get some rest and start it in the morning.

We chose option b in order to give me some time to rest before the show went on and I pushed a baby out!

My pregnancy is all about things going to plan
Chris slept peacefully and uncomfortably on the plastic mattress on the floor whilst I slept for ten minute intervals between my contractions. No, they were not too intense, but I do find it weird that I was able to doze off until the next one came. They grew stronger and stronger but not closer and closer. By about 6:30am I was ready for some of that lovely codeine I had been offered earlier. 

I was checked to see how far I had dilated - 2cm - and they inserted what looked like a bone coloured knitting needle into my vagina to break some of the residue membranes around bubba's head. These procedures are mighty fun and all part of the birthing experience that no one else really mentions to you before they happen but all the nurses and midwifes assume you know exactly what they mean when they start talking about it.

Side note: I've never been told so many times by so many different people how well I am doing or what a trooper I am. When they are about to stick their fingers in my vagina to poke until they find what they are looking for, and ask me if I am ready, do they expect me to start to cry and halt the procedure? Nope, might as well nervously laugh and get the damn thing over and done with!

Within the next hour, I had no codeine, but I did get my syntocin and that meant it was time for Tiny Human right? Wrong! Of course I was wrong. This post is all about how things went wrong! Or maybe this blog is all about those things... Anyways the drip went in and I was told everyone reacts differently. Some people go into active labour right away whilst other people need a much greater dose to get the ball rolling. Can you guess which category I fell into? 

Neither!

I got more contractions that was right, but they were irregular in length, strength and distance from one another. Again in the world of people getting babies out of vaginas, this did not mean very much. Until they started to get really intense! Ow! Those mother fucking contractions hurt! I squirmed around on the bed, pushed on Chris and said "ow" many many times before it was time for me ask for the all mighty epidural.

They said, go to the toilet before they stab me. I did what I was told and whilst I was there, notices that I was feeling quite nervous about the procedure. I walked out of the bathroom in my gown, feeling exposed and noted to Chris that my heart rate was up. I felt it and my Fitbit confirmed it. I didn't mention it to any of the busy workers, they were setting my pain relieving needle.

Epidural time!
So getting an Epidural is a process. First you get all naked and then dressed in a fancy hospital gown. Second you have to sit in a position with your back (and butt) sticking out at the anesthetist. They prod you to find the right place. Paint you with really cold antiseptic a few times and then you get a jab of local anesthetic. Which is cold and hurts a tad more than expected. Followed by the big needle. Lastly they tape the tubes to your back and you are now bed-bound. Oh, bed-bound means no toileting. So... that means catheter. When I had my leg operation, I probably had one of these fun things inserted, but it may have been after being put to sleep. 

Essentially they stick a big tube into your urethra, blow up a balloon in your bladder and bibbity bobbity boo, all your pee goes into the bag and doesn't form a nice yellow pool around your body. But then this one time when someone doesn't shut the valve and the pee goes all over the floor and makes everyone's shoes sticky! Hehe.

Things get racy
The next thing that results from an Epidural is that you need to be hooked up to machines to make sure you are still okay despite this weird drug pulsing through your body and putting a block to feelings of pain and temperature. With me, this meant shining a light on my rapid heart rate. It was going mental. Super fast, super irregular and enough to scare a whole heap of trained professionals into talking fast and bringing in more and more people who's paychecks are greater and greater.

My heart was in AF - Atrial Fibrillation. This is the kind of thing old people get. But yippee I got it and no one knew why. There were specialists in the room and Professors on the phone. Why was this happening and what should we do?

Thankfully despite the strong observable (yep if you watched closely you could see the movements!) palpitations in my chest and numbers on the monitors (HR higher than 160bpm at times), my blood pressure was normal and sable and Tiny Human's heart rate was perfectly normal. My heart was having no impact on the little guy.

Finally a very special cardiologist who gets paid the big bucks recommended some medication to stabilise my heart. It would take 2 hours to make an impact... but it never did. The epidural and syntocin was turned off so there was no more labour progression and no pain relief :( 

A c-section after all
The obstetrician on the ward came and chatted with me and said that given my heart issues and in general the size of my baby, they are offering c-section. The pros of this being that we cannot re-start labour until my heart rate is under control and we have no idea how long this might take. Also, once we do re-start labour we don't know how long that will take to get a baby out or what will happen to my heart through the process. We took the option of the operation but this didn't mean the little guy was coming out anytime soon.

First we needed to somewhat even out my heart rate. This took a few medications a quite a bit of time. Second we needed a cardiac specialist for a bedside cardiac ultrasound. Which seems easy enough but like with any specialist, takes time. 

When all was said and done, my heart rate didn't stabilise but stopped hitting numbers like 160 and hovered around 130 instead - in my case this was a win. The ultrasound showed I had a perfectly unremarkable heart. Eventually this meant that the little guy was born.

What a scary situation
I hadn't been scared before,  definitely was now. This was a full-on operation AND I WAS GOING TO BE AWAKE FOR IT!!!!! Between the drugs, the nerves and the cold, I was a shivering mess using humour and laughter to manage my emotions and fears. Thankfully many of the people in the operating theatre had spent much of the day with Chris and I and our unique sense of humour was not too off-putting by this stage.

So at 1617 on 16 October 2016, Kingsley Peter Kolenko was lifted from my belly just in time for him to wee on me and the operating bed. Chris watched on as the not so little guy weighed in at 4.56kg (almost a full kilo heavier than the average Australian baby) and measured 56cm long.

Oh and my heart rate... it went down as soon as the chubba was lifted out of me. Like a switch I was fixed.

A blanket for Tiny Human

Tiny Human, your blanket is quite special, it is one of a kind.

Not in another's house or in a store will you find.

The humble blanket was made just for you.

Each patch has a meaning, let me explain these through.

My hand holds the first thread in the first corner.

It will always be there to hold you, even when you are older.

There's a big sun to brighten your everyday.

And gray to remind you each day is different in every way.

On the top right are tiny footprints in blue.

Because in your life will take you in directions, old and new.

Oh, look do you see the little dummy? 

That was decoration at a party when you were still in my tummy.

Leah is your biggest sister, she likes to squish you.

She is sensible and calm and has a unique point of view.

Next you see a love heart, because... well love.

If nothing else love is in this stitching, behind and above.

Balloons are a childhood favourite creating smiling.

But they also represent you always striving and flying.

The little dinosaur is cute and a friendly looking dude.

When I found out you were a boy apparently I was in a dinosaur mood.

Tara is your next sister full of crazy and energy.

She wants to take care of you lovingly and expertly.

This next square is my most loved it symbolises us being linked together.

Even when it may seem there is something in the way: time, space or a tiny feather.

The last row is especially fun, see the tree with swing?

This one is to remind us that keeping the inner child alive is an important thing.

That and family is what keeps us going and smiling.

In our lives we need to laugh and dance and play and terribly sing.

Finishing off these special pieces of fabric.

Is your daddy's hand and the last link of string, fantastic.

I hope you cherish this blanket as I will cherish you.

As it serves a constant reminder that your mummy and daddy love you.

Random Pregnancy Thoughts: September

I wish there was an app or something that could tell me exactly what day Tiny Human was coming. I like to plan. This little guys will dictate everything else, can't I have a say in when he comes out of me? Being able to plan and take back some control was why a c-section was so alluring.

I have been trying to explain the birthing process to the girls. They say "I can't wait for Friday!" because this is Tiny Human's due date. Tara says "so do you go into hospital on Friday and then they take the baby out?". "No darling," I answer, "he will let me know when he is ready to come out." This makes no sense to a six year old.

I say "It takes a while for him to come out and it hurts.". I squeeze their shoulders for three seconds then let go, then I squeeze again. I say that is what contractions are like. This they remember.

So as my boobs kept growing, I had to keep buying new bras. These suckers are pricey! Once a 14F no longer fit me, I was left with online shopping only. I found this heavy duty sports bra. It had straps two inches thick a 10 clasp close at the back and this marvelous design that managed to keep my boobs separate at the front (not an easy task given the size of my boosims). The bra was marvelous, comfortable and so so so very ugly. So when it started to sause chaffing, I knew it was all over. There was nothing left I could do for my chest. 

Sometimes I like to poke Tiny Human to make sure he is still there... he ignores me. Typical!

Me: *trying to make myself look nice at eight months pregnant for Leah's award ceremony*

Me: *throwing clothes onto the bed... realising I can't get that dress over my shoulders... ooops realising I can't get this dress off my shoulders... double ooops that was the sounds of stitches ripping...*

Me: *finally decided on a nice stripy dress... now I need to get my stockings on.... one foot... two feet...* "NOPE!"

Me: "CHRISSY!!!!!!!!!!!"

Chris: *taking directions from me as to how to get my second foot in the stocking and pull them up*

Chris: "This the weirdest thing I had had to do for you"

... ten minutes later

Me: "ugh, this dress is not going to work..."

Me: *said something smart-ass-ish to Chris*

Chris: *pushes me onto my side on the couch*

Chris: *in his head* "I am the greatest! I have worked out how to take advantage of Tara's pregnancy. Ahahahahahahaha!"

I get it, some people don't hate pregnancy. Good for you! But please don't try to convert me to your side of things. No matter how much you say "this is a glorious time" or "enjoy the time you are pregnant", I will not suddenly stop and realise "OMG you were right all along, pregnancy is a beautiful gift and I need to relish every part of it... the sickness, the inability to move normally, the pelvis issues and the people wanting to talk to me! It is all wonderful, I never want this to end." 

So usually I pee right about midnight. I wake up, I pee, I pet the cat, then I go back to bed. So I must have been really tired when I managed to sleep until 2am. That sounds nice doesn't it? NO!!!! It meant I had another two hours of pee build up and it freaking hurt!!!!!!!!!

Me: sitting quietly on the couch minding my own business when suddenly... "OW OW OW OW. Why the f*** are you hurting me! Stop it!"

So, girls know that getting a midstream urine sample is a tough task. For guys, you hold onto and point the urine into the cup, for girls it is not so simple. We need to stick the cup where we think the pee will come out and hope for the best. Normally we can see the stream and slip the cup in the right place. But wait... not when you are 8 months pregnant... you can't see anything down there! There is no point and shoot, there is no see the stream and slide the cup in the right place... it is a blind process. Alas, I peed all over myself and was surprised I managed to get any in the damn cup!

My toes are little sausages....

Between maternity leave and my massive feet, I look at my extensive show collection and wonder how many of my babies have already been worn for the last time :(

Chris: ":my wife is like morning sickness... I don't want to hear from her when I am at work, but when I don't, I assume something is wrong."

Indigestion is a bitch

Indigestion is a bitch
Like a high school snitch
You can't hit him, he's smaller than us
So you yell and scream and cuss.

Indigestion go away
I can't operate on no sleep everyday
Sitting and sleeping are not meant to combine
And sleep is a dear friend of mine.

Indigestion, I hate you so much
Insert metaphor about unrequited crush
It's the same evil pain in the chest
That keeps you awake without any rest.

Indigestion you are not welcome,
Like a smell not knowing where it's coming from
Hunting for a way to make it disappear
With no power to make it leave here.

Indigestion please be no more
I don't even understand why you're here for
Well, I know the medical reasons
But I don't care for this feelings.

Update: Tiny Human is not so Tiny

At almost 36 weeks we were more than ready to know what the birthing plan was going to be.

The ultrasound would be the way to find out which part of my body, Tiny Human would first see.

Yep, there's the cervix says the technician and here is the placenta they are quite ordinary.

No need for a planned Cesarean, vaginal birth is a safe option, but wait there's more she says merrily.

Here's his head, his tummy and his leg... any issues with diabetes or complications? No definitely.

It turns out there is nothing to be concerned about, well other than the size of the not so small baby.

He is a little on the larger size, on the 91st percentile, already like 3.5 kilos amazingly.

From now on the Tiny... well more like Little Human will continue to grow you see.

He will put on fat at a rate of 200g per week, that is what worries me.

But he is in the right position, healthy and normal. A healthy, normally fatty baby he will be.

Random Pregnancy Thoughts: August

Me: poking Chris in the arm to get his attention "Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy!"

Chris: ignoring me, assuming I have nothing of interest to say.

Me: "Chrissy!!!!!" I continue to poke him whilst he ignores me! "Chrissy guess what?!"

Chris: tries to go on ignoring me.

Me: *thinking there is no way Chris is going to win this war* upgrades to poking Chrissy's ribs "Chrissy guess what?!"

Chris: "What?"

Me: *thinking woohoo I won* "Want to know how I wash my feet?!"

Chris: "not really" and goes back to his book.

Me: "In the shower I get the loofah and put soap on it... then I drop it on the floor and use my other foot to rub it on my foot."

Chris: unimpressed "That's lovely darling".

Why do my stretch marks hurt? Are they supposed to?

Me: waking up in the morning... "Chrissy I need a hug"

Chris: moving towards me "you want a hug?" 

Me: starts crying

Chris: "aw darling is it because Pene did a big poo?"

Me: "I don't know why" cries into Chris' clothes

So I was getting dressed for work when I went to choose some shoes. I pushed my feet into them. They seemed a bit snug... hmmmm, I thought, I have heard about people getting swollen feet... maybe my feet are a bit swollen. Oh well. A few hours later I was sitting at my desk with my shoes off. I went to get a cup of tea and planned to put my shoes on to walk to the kitchen. Alas, my feet had other plans. There was no squishing my feet back into the shoes... so for the rest of the day I was shoeless. No one gets cranky and mentions WH&S to the crazy shoeless pregnant lady, they just let her get her tea.

So, my ring doesn't fit anymore. Yeah, that same ring that falls off in the winter months... it is too small for my fatty-mcfatty fingers! 

Getting ready for work decisions tree...

Do I have to see any clients or go to important meetings today?

Yes: wear proper clothes

No: wear track pants and hoodie

The man gave me back my change and $1 coin fell on the floor. I just stood there and looked at it. Perhaps it would magically fly into my hand... ah yes it does fly into my hand (with help from the man picking it up and placing it into my hand). No joke, I was ready to walk away from that $1.

As told to me by a friend...

Male doctor: women tend to like to pamper themselves and splurge in the last trimester with a pedicure. They like their toes to look nice.

Any female: ah... well it is probably because they can't reach their feet anymore to even trim their nails.

I now look at my size 10E bras and wonder how I ever fit into something so small!

If my boobs could stop growing now, that would be great.

Everyone ever: how are you feeling?

Me: fat

Everyone ever: oh no... you aren't fat... you're pregnant... you look lovely... yeah pregnant.

Me: ah... yeah pregnant and fat. (Seriously I am fat. I am okay with it, no need to try to make me feel better, but yeah unless the baby is partly in my arms, thighs and boobs... there is some fat going on there.)

Everyone ever: how much longer to go?

Me: seven weeks

Everyone ever: (with shocked look on face looking at how huge I am). Wow not long to go now!

Me: no, it is ages!

Strrrretttchhhhh

"Chrissy!!!!" She shrieked waking her husband from his sleep in.
When he didn't stir, she got louder "CHRISSY!"
Still no reply.
"Chrissssssy," she whined "I know you are awake."
"Ah, why can't you just pretend I am sleep for once?"
"because of this!!!" She answers facing her pregnant belly towards to her dopey husband.
"What...?" He is confused and honestly doesn't care.
"Stretch marks Chrissy! On my belly, why didn't you tell me?"
Now he is confused, why was he supposed to tell her...?
"You know I can't see my belly! I need you to tell me!"
He wasn't sure if she was joking or not.
She grabbed a hold of the Bio Oil and rubbed it on her under belly.

She thought to herself that she may have over-reacted. She had found stretch marks on her enormous boobs a few weeks before. It was upsetting to see the three or so small reddy-purple lines on the top outside of her melons. However, she had to admit, she had escaped getting any lines earlier when her lumps of fat had grown from an already large 10E to a 14FF. She now looks at her old bras and wondering softly if she will ever fit into them again. They look tiny compared to the basketball holders she is sporting these days. So, the stretch marks on her breasts, they didn't get this reaction.

It was about a week after that she had discovered two lines on the top of each of her thighs too. Given the extension of her butt and thighs in the months of her baby growing, this  did not surprise her either. They were small and not noticeable. They got some attention from the Bio Oil, but not the stressed response that her stomach did.

So why was she so shocked to see stretch marks on her belly? Of course her belly was ten thousand times bigger than it was before. If any area of her body was going to get coloured, jagged lines on them, it was going to be her belly. So who cares? Why did these marks seem like such a travesty that required a huge response at 6:30 in the morning and an acknowledgement from her husband?

After she pulled herself together and considered her situation she had to conceed, it could be much worse....

 So thankful that none of these are me!