In a previous life, I used to go out on New Year's Eve. I never had a particularly good time- high expectations mixed with copious amounts of alcohol are always going to equal an epic fail. But now I have children, New Year's Eve has been spent at home...usually asleep long before the magic hour. And this year is no different. All three children are asleep and have been for hours. My husband is playing GTA and I'm in bed.
There was a conversation this evening about children. I love having children. I would have many many more if I could. We were having a conversation I never thought would take place and that was discussing having more babies. I am well aware that my husband doesn't want any more babies, and yet we were talking about it so logically- where we would put another one, how would we afford it- that I actually started to think it might become a reality. Then when I realised the conversation was completely arbitrary, my heart broke. I could feel my eyes start to prickle with tears and I was trying to hold them back.
Logically, I know that we are done having babies. But I think as a mother, that is a very hard thing to accept. There is so much love, so much happiness in children and the love that you feel for your own child far surpasses any other love. I was made to be a mother and the knowledge that I will never have another child is tearing me apart tonight.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
The Story Of Zachary
This is the story of my handsome butterball baby, who entered the world on June 29 2010.
It all began back in November 2009. I had been suffering with a tummy bug for a few weeks. Our tenant was giving us grief. Life sucked and I wasn't pulling it together very well. After yet another night of me sitting on the toilet, my husband suggested I might be pregnant. What a load of crap I thought to myself- we had been using the rhythm method and I was sure of my dates. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a period- which was probably a sure sign it had been quite a while. The next night, we got babysitters in and took ourselves off to town for some late night shopping. As we passed the chemist, Chad thought it might be a good idea to pick up some pregnancy tests. I did, thinking what a waste of money it would be.
I casually did a test later that night, not at all concerned about the results. I put the test down on the windowsill while I got ready for bed. I looked at the test about a minute later and started shaking. Positive. Very, very positive.
We hadn't planned on another baby quite so soon after the other two. We had thought that we might have another one when the other two were off to school. But life had other plans. Test after test revealed that yes, I was indeed pregnant. My GP sent me off for a dating scan, which pinpointed the pregnancy at 9 weeks and 2 days.
The pregnancy was beautiful- the easiest yet. I sailed through and loved my pregnant belly. I felt good, and felt that I looked good. At 37 weeks, I had been in what I thought was prelabour for a few days and at my midwife appointment, I was feeling pretty emotional. My midwife agreed that labour was probably imminent and did a stretch and sweep. I was so so disappointed when I didn't end up going into labour. A few days after the stretch and sweep, I resigned myself to going to term or over and settled in to enjoy the last few days of my last pregnancy.
The following Sunday, and 38 +2, I woke up at 3 am needing to use the toilet. It was then I discovered that my waters had broken, in a slow leak. It took me until morning to decide that it was definitely my waters. I rung my midwife to let her know, and settled back to wait for contractions.
I spent some of Sunday and Monday down at the hospital being monitored, but with contractions few and far between, I was admitted on Tuesday morning for an induction. My midwife examined me and discovered that my waters had fully broken, and that there was no hope of breaking the hind waters to get labour going. I needed the syntocinon drip. When this news was broken, I cried and cried. I had had that drip with my previous births and was well aware of the ferocity of the contractions it brought on. But with no other option, we soldiered forth.
The drip was inserted at 9 20 am and by 10 contractions had started- very intense and very close together. By 11, we were in established labour and I was finding it hard to cope. Then, all of a sudden, I felt the need to push. I figured I couldn't possibly be ready after such a short time, but there was no denying that feeling. I screamed for a midwife and they came running. I said the baby was coming NOW and I remember looking into the eyes of one of them as she frantically tried to figure out what to do. My own midwife had gone AWOL and took them about ten minutes to track her down. Trying to push this baby out was the hardest thing I had ever done- the baby was the wrong way around and just wouldn't come out.
I remember saying that I couldn't do it anymore, but as I was saying that, another part of my brain was thinking that there was no option here and the only way out was through. A couple of gigantic pushes later, my beautiful baby was born. Officially a 31 minute labour, including 8 minutes of pushing. When I looked in the mirror after he was born, I had broken blood vessels all over my face from the intense pushing.
After two days in hospital we went home, and Zachary fitted in like he'd always been there. He is the old soul in this family, peaceful, accepting and ever so chipper. He has completed our family and brought me peace.
It all began back in November 2009. I had been suffering with a tummy bug for a few weeks. Our tenant was giving us grief. Life sucked and I wasn't pulling it together very well. After yet another night of me sitting on the toilet, my husband suggested I might be pregnant. What a load of crap I thought to myself- we had been using the rhythm method and I was sure of my dates. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a period- which was probably a sure sign it had been quite a while. The next night, we got babysitters in and took ourselves off to town for some late night shopping. As we passed the chemist, Chad thought it might be a good idea to pick up some pregnancy tests. I did, thinking what a waste of money it would be.
I casually did a test later that night, not at all concerned about the results. I put the test down on the windowsill while I got ready for bed. I looked at the test about a minute later and started shaking. Positive. Very, very positive.
We hadn't planned on another baby quite so soon after the other two. We had thought that we might have another one when the other two were off to school. But life had other plans. Test after test revealed that yes, I was indeed pregnant. My GP sent me off for a dating scan, which pinpointed the pregnancy at 9 weeks and 2 days.
The pregnancy was beautiful- the easiest yet. I sailed through and loved my pregnant belly. I felt good, and felt that I looked good. At 37 weeks, I had been in what I thought was prelabour for a few days and at my midwife appointment, I was feeling pretty emotional. My midwife agreed that labour was probably imminent and did a stretch and sweep. I was so so disappointed when I didn't end up going into labour. A few days after the stretch and sweep, I resigned myself to going to term or over and settled in to enjoy the last few days of my last pregnancy.
The following Sunday, and 38 +2, I woke up at 3 am needing to use the toilet. It was then I discovered that my waters had broken, in a slow leak. It took me until morning to decide that it was definitely my waters. I rung my midwife to let her know, and settled back to wait for contractions.
I spent some of Sunday and Monday down at the hospital being monitored, but with contractions few and far between, I was admitted on Tuesday morning for an induction. My midwife examined me and discovered that my waters had fully broken, and that there was no hope of breaking the hind waters to get labour going. I needed the syntocinon drip. When this news was broken, I cried and cried. I had had that drip with my previous births and was well aware of the ferocity of the contractions it brought on. But with no other option, we soldiered forth.
The drip was inserted at 9 20 am and by 10 contractions had started- very intense and very close together. By 11, we were in established labour and I was finding it hard to cope. Then, all of a sudden, I felt the need to push. I figured I couldn't possibly be ready after such a short time, but there was no denying that feeling. I screamed for a midwife and they came running. I said the baby was coming NOW and I remember looking into the eyes of one of them as she frantically tried to figure out what to do. My own midwife had gone AWOL and took them about ten minutes to track her down. Trying to push this baby out was the hardest thing I had ever done- the baby was the wrong way around and just wouldn't come out.
I remember saying that I couldn't do it anymore, but as I was saying that, another part of my brain was thinking that there was no option here and the only way out was through. A couple of gigantic pushes later, my beautiful baby was born. Officially a 31 minute labour, including 8 minutes of pushing. When I looked in the mirror after he was born, I had broken blood vessels all over my face from the intense pushing.
After two days in hospital we went home, and Zachary fitted in like he'd always been there. He is the old soul in this family, peaceful, accepting and ever so chipper. He has completed our family and brought me peace.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
God Put Me On This Earth To Acheive A Certain Number Of Things...
At this rate, I'm so far behind I will never die.
So says Calvin and Hobbes. And that's pretty much where I am right now. There is just so much to do, especially at this time of year, And even when it's not Christmas time, there's still three children to be clothed, fed and played with, cleaning to be done, sheets to be washed, floors to be mopped...the list goes on and on.
Add to that a night where I would have been lucky to get a hours consecutive sleep and I'm feeling pretty over whelmed. The children are usually not this bad. Amelia was awake three times overnight crying for mum, Alex was awake twice crying as well, and Zachary woke up at 5 20 am for a feed.
Nights like that I HATE being Mum and would happily chuck it all away...until the next time Amelia shouts 'I love you Mum!", Alex says "Mmmmmmmm" which means he wants a kiss and Zachary gives me a massive gummy smile.
In the end, no matter how hard having three small children might be a time, it's all worth it. A million times over.
So says Calvin and Hobbes. And that's pretty much where I am right now. There is just so much to do, especially at this time of year, And even when it's not Christmas time, there's still three children to be clothed, fed and played with, cleaning to be done, sheets to be washed, floors to be mopped...the list goes on and on.
Add to that a night where I would have been lucky to get a hours consecutive sleep and I'm feeling pretty over whelmed. The children are usually not this bad. Amelia was awake three times overnight crying for mum, Alex was awake twice crying as well, and Zachary woke up at 5 20 am for a feed.
Nights like that I HATE being Mum and would happily chuck it all away...until the next time Amelia shouts 'I love you Mum!", Alex says "Mmmmmmmm" which means he wants a kiss and Zachary gives me a massive gummy smile.
In the end, no matter how hard having three small children might be a time, it's all worth it. A million times over.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Do you want to know what I can hear right now?
The sound of a small boy CRYING at the top of his lungs. That would be Alex. Let me tell you his story.
I was delighted when I found out I was pregnant again, and even more so when we found out we were having a little boy. Pregnancy was a breeze, although I was under considerable stress from the neighbours from hell. Then at 36 weeks, everything started to go wrong. I started to bleed and an ambulance was called. I spent two nights in hospital while they tried to get the bleeding under control. For the next two weeks, I spent three or fours hours nearly every morning at the hospital being monitored. Then one of the traces found that the baby had minimal movements and there was talk of induction. I saw an ob that morning who sent me home and told me to wait until I went into labour. That night I started bleeding again, and passed clots this time.
After spending the night in hospital, they doctors finally agreed to induce me. I had my waters broken and labour kicked off with a dose of syntocinon. After two hours, my little man entered the world and I thought that the hardest part was over.
When Alexander was 3 weeks old, we went to his GP with chronic constipation. This was the beginning of his health problems. At six weeks, he stopped drinking his bottles. He was diagnosed with reflux and tried on several different meds which all had little or no effect. These medications were in addition to the three or four he was already for wind and constipation problems. Alex was always a difficult baby- he would cry for what felt like to entire day, he wouldn't sleep, he wouldn't drink. At my wits end one day, when he wouldn't drink, I threw the bottle across the room. It ricocheted back and sprayed Alex with milk. While it didn't come close to hitting him, it was the wake up call I needed, and I promised myself I would try to be a better mother to this tiny helpless thing.
Life didn't get any better, and one afternoon, after he'd only drunk 10 ml all day, I went to the emergency room, desperate for some help. I don't know how long I waited, but nobody came to help. I left in tears, thinking that this would be the end of me. That night, paediatrics rung our home to find out why we'd left. They said that if we would come down right then, they had a space to see us. We drove as fast as we could and were seen immediately. I spent the night in hospital with Alex, where they were able to see for themselves what he was like. We had already been referred to Andrew Kelly, a private paediatrician, and were advised to keep this appointment, and in the meantime not to worry about the volume of milk he was drinking.
When the appointment with Dr. Kelly finally rolled around, I was nearly sick with nerves in the waiting room. Alex put on his best show, smiling, laughing and cooing for the doctor. At then end of the medical check, Dr. Kelly gave us his diagnosis. There was nothing physically wrong with the child, more that he was a difficult infant, and that the only cure was time.
And he was right. Two years later (although it has been a very hard two years), Alex is generally a happy healthy two year old with the normal two year old tantrums. I would say that he is still quite likely to fly off the handle a lot quicker than your average child; but on the whole, he is a delight and a blessing.
He is my first born son and I love him dearly.
The sound of a small boy CRYING at the top of his lungs. That would be Alex. Let me tell you his story.
I was delighted when I found out I was pregnant again, and even more so when we found out we were having a little boy. Pregnancy was a breeze, although I was under considerable stress from the neighbours from hell. Then at 36 weeks, everything started to go wrong. I started to bleed and an ambulance was called. I spent two nights in hospital while they tried to get the bleeding under control. For the next two weeks, I spent three or fours hours nearly every morning at the hospital being monitored. Then one of the traces found that the baby had minimal movements and there was talk of induction. I saw an ob that morning who sent me home and told me to wait until I went into labour. That night I started bleeding again, and passed clots this time.
After spending the night in hospital, they doctors finally agreed to induce me. I had my waters broken and labour kicked off with a dose of syntocinon. After two hours, my little man entered the world and I thought that the hardest part was over.
When Alexander was 3 weeks old, we went to his GP with chronic constipation. This was the beginning of his health problems. At six weeks, he stopped drinking his bottles. He was diagnosed with reflux and tried on several different meds which all had little or no effect. These medications were in addition to the three or four he was already for wind and constipation problems. Alex was always a difficult baby- he would cry for what felt like to entire day, he wouldn't sleep, he wouldn't drink. At my wits end one day, when he wouldn't drink, I threw the bottle across the room. It ricocheted back and sprayed Alex with milk. While it didn't come close to hitting him, it was the wake up call I needed, and I promised myself I would try to be a better mother to this tiny helpless thing.
Life didn't get any better, and one afternoon, after he'd only drunk 10 ml all day, I went to the emergency room, desperate for some help. I don't know how long I waited, but nobody came to help. I left in tears, thinking that this would be the end of me. That night, paediatrics rung our home to find out why we'd left. They said that if we would come down right then, they had a space to see us. We drove as fast as we could and were seen immediately. I spent the night in hospital with Alex, where they were able to see for themselves what he was like. We had already been referred to Andrew Kelly, a private paediatrician, and were advised to keep this appointment, and in the meantime not to worry about the volume of milk he was drinking.
When the appointment with Dr. Kelly finally rolled around, I was nearly sick with nerves in the waiting room. Alex put on his best show, smiling, laughing and cooing for the doctor. At then end of the medical check, Dr. Kelly gave us his diagnosis. There was nothing physically wrong with the child, more that he was a difficult infant, and that the only cure was time.
And he was right. Two years later (although it has been a very hard two years), Alex is generally a happy healthy two year old with the normal two year old tantrums. I would say that he is still quite likely to fly off the handle a lot quicker than your average child; but on the whole, he is a delight and a blessing.
He is my first born son and I love him dearly.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Getting Up Early
I hate it. I've never been a morning person. My most favourite job was checkout chick, where I didn't start work till one in the afternoon, worked till ten pm then went out drinking. Rinse and repeat.
So it's a bit unfortunate that Zachary has decided in the last few days that he's an early bird. I'm not sure I'm cut out for 5:48 am starts. However, getting up so early has its benefits. For example, by 7:30 this morning, dinner was in the slowcooker, the washing was hung out and load number two was spinning. I was dressed, one third of my children were dressed and all were fed.
But the best bit about being up before almost everyone else? The peace and quiet. Drinking coffee and reading the paper with my butterball babe playing on his rug beside me. Sun streaming in the ranchslider, birds chirping in the neighbouring trees. The feeling of contentment with your life as it is right now.
It almost makes getting out of bed at 5:48 am bearable. Almost.
So it's a bit unfortunate that Zachary has decided in the last few days that he's an early bird. I'm not sure I'm cut out for 5:48 am starts. However, getting up so early has its benefits. For example, by 7:30 this morning, dinner was in the slowcooker, the washing was hung out and load number two was spinning. I was dressed, one third of my children were dressed and all were fed.
But the best bit about being up before almost everyone else? The peace and quiet. Drinking coffee and reading the paper with my butterball babe playing on his rug beside me. Sun streaming in the ranchslider, birds chirping in the neighbouring trees. The feeling of contentment with your life as it is right now.
It almost makes getting out of bed at 5:48 am bearable. Almost.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Phew... Life's been a whirlwind over the last few years and to be honest, I'd forgotten all about this blog. But life has settled down a little bit now, so let's start writing again! Three children now (3.5 years, 2 years and five months). Usually tired, but generally loving life.
I suppose the main point of starting the blog up again is to make sense of the many many thoughts that are tumbling round in my head...so be prepared for this to be pretty random.
Let's start with Christmas.
Christmas, baby! Oooo yeah!
I never was a big fan of Christmas and getting festive and all that jazz, but ever since I've had my own little family Christmas has become a pretty big deal in this household. This year, I spent the best part of a month getting a dollshouse done for Amelia- kitset dollshouse, you're to add the decorating and furnishing. Alex has a little workbench, and Zachary...well Zachy doesn't reallt care about Christmas yet. Zachary has a highchair toy, but I think he'd probably appreciate a chicken leg to chew on during the actual day.
So that's pretty much me and mine. Enjoy reading the blog, and feel free to comment on whatever you wish.
Fiona.
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