End of an era

For the first time in almost 2 years, I wore a non-maternity bra to work today.

It feels a little sad …

She’s not happy about it but the fact of the matter is the stress of working full time and feeding less during the day has taken its toll and no amount of night time snacking is going to fix that.

Add to that a diet change and voila – what little milk supply was there has pretty much gone.

She’s nearly 17 months. It’s the longest I’ve breastfed a baby for.

We’ve had a good innings but I can see the end in sight and whilst part of me rejoices at having my body back (and part of NIH rejoices at the prospect of having HIS particular area of amusement back), part of me weeps.

It’s truly the end of an era.

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Baby knows what she wants

We’ve been learning then teaching Little Miss some sign language in the hopes that it would make it easier for us and her to communicate better. You know, because she’s a baby who can’t talk yet but by gum, she certainly has a mind of her own and it’s handy to know what she wants at times!

It’s been an interesting experiment and after what seemed like forever, she just started doing the “More” sign one day.

Since that miraculous moment (triggered, I believe, by a hot chip on my plate), we’ve all learnt a few more useful signs, such as:

“All Done” (very popular with her when she doesn’t want to eat any more veges)

“Change” “Nappy” (not as popular with her)

“Milk” (her personal favourite)

Now that the terrible two’s are fast approaching, we’ve learnt “Yes” and “No” to try and develop structure and guidelines.

Ha.

Which is why in the early hours of the morning a few weeks ago, I found myself having a “silent” argument with a very headstrong 16 month old that went like this:

Baby: [sign] “milk”
Mummy: [sign] “no”
Baby: [sign VERY FORCEFULLY] “YES”

via GIPHY

Mummy laughed
Baby won.

Our Christmas Adventure

Walking the tracks

It’s been ages since I wrote a sightseeing blog – mainly because with a baby we haven’t strayed too far from the familiar for nearly 9 months.

But since there were no family visiting us for Christmas this year (and until I go back to work full-time in February, we couldn’t afford the trip home) we decided to be quintessential Kiwis for the season and “booked a bach” for three days over Christmas.

A bach (pronounced “batch”) can be anything from a converted shed in someone’s yard to a full-on holiday house with all the extras. In our case, it was a really quaint little one room (I don’t count the bathroom as it was more of a cupboard) cabin in the front yard of the owners’ section at Waihi Beach (pronounced “Why-hee”) on the East Coast about 1.5 hrs drive from Hamilton.

Although it sounds a little close to camping in a strangers’ yard, the block was around a quarter of an acre and there was ample room between our cabin and the main house. They’ve also set it up with lovely hedges all around so that it really felt quite private (even if, at the right angle and with enough dedication and a pair of binoculars, you would have had a great view of someone showering if you left the bathroom window open at night).

The cabin itself was set up with all the mod cons – a mini kitchen, BBQ, fridge, microwave, comfortable bed, lounge, armchair and random books in the bookshelf. We brought our food with us so it kinda felt like very fancy camping – all about 5 minutes’ walk from the shops or the beach. Perfect!

Clear waters of the gorge

We dawdled on the way there, stopping in at Morrinsville for a coffee then at Karangahake Gorge to do one of the walks. This area was famous for gold back in the day and the walks follow old tram tracks through the mountains beside the gorge and beside the remnants of buildings from yesteryear.

One of the viewing spots from inside the mine shaft

We threw Little Miss into the sling and went tramping (another kiwi tradition) up hill, down dale and in the dark (until I finally found where my new phone upgrade had hidden my torch). I can see why tramping is a favoured NZ pasttime – gorgeous scenery, well-tended paths and no snakes to look out for make it a very enjoyable way to get some exercise.

Orokawa Bay

Christmas Day was absolutely glorious and a delicious 24 degrees! My, I do like their idea of summer over here!) so we headed to the beach and decided to be brave (or crazy) and do the walk around the headland to Orokawa Bay  … in thongs … with a baby in a sling and me carrying the gear!  Actually it was not too hard a walk (considering Kiwis think any ground less than 45 degree angle to be flat) through gorgeous bush (once again no snakes! Yay!) with glimpses of the aquamarine waters below us.

Set up our beach shade underneath the trees. How’s the serenity?

The bay itself is very picturesque with big pohutukawas overhanging the beach, giving lots of shady spots to sit and admire the view. Not so great for swimming but we dug pools in the sand for Little Miss and managed to get wet and very very sandy in the process.

 

Open carriage to check out the view

The next day was raining but we’d planned to go into Waihi itself (about 10 kms inland) to take a ride on the Goldfields Historic Rail so it was perfect timing, really. It stopped raining by the time we were due to return so we rode in the outside open carriage to really enjoy the scenery.

It was a really relaxed and laid back first Christmas for Little Miss but one we all enjoyed. We’re thinking of convincing family to join us in Wanaka on the South Island next Christmas, which means we actually need to start planning now as it’s quite a popular destination, even in the summer months. At least we have good feedback about us on the Book-a-Bach website to hopefully aid in securing one of the fancier bachs down there:  “Awesome guests and they left the cabin spotless!”

I didn’t go too crazy as far as cleaning went but I may have squirted a little extra Spray ‘n’ Wipe around the room … just in case …

And now for something completely different …

I have a thing for circles lately. I don’t know if there’s a hidden message in it. Maybe I’m subconsciously thinking I’m back at square one in the circle of life (possibly a mixed metaphor there but whatever).

Once again,  I have a small baby which means I’ve pretty much lost my independence for a while – at least until she’s weaned.  But it’s not so much the constant demands on my time, sleep and body that troubles me.

It’s money.

Even though I’ve been doing a little bit of work here and there, it hasn’t been regular and has equated to little more coffee money (once upon a time they called it pin money – but who needs that many pins?).

It certainly hasn’t been anything that could cover some expenses while I’m on maternity leave. Fortunately I go back to work in a few months – and I say fortunately because I can’t stand not bringing money into the house.

Money is such a touchy subject for me. In my first marriage, I felt incredibly guilty about not working for the first six years, even though the main reason was that we had three kidlets under the age of five and could not have afforded the childcare costs.  At that stage, I only had the qualifications to be a check-out chick – so I would have basically just handed over my wage each week. Add to that the fact we were in the Army and moved on average once a year and my prospects were really poor.

Even though it seemed the logical choice to wait until they went to school – I ended up getting permanent part-time work when the youngest was 12 months old – I was made to feel that I was a burden because I didn’t earn money. And it wasn’t my imagination either – he said those very words to me years later.  It may have just been the divorce talking but it still stabs me right in the heart to recall it.

Nowadays there are so many articles highlighting the ability of stay-at-home mums to improve the lifestyle of a regular household. After all, they cook, they clean, they mind your child … if dad plays his cards right, he may get some “personal time” …

To pay for all that (and I don’t actually think they included ‘personal time’ in their sums) calculates to some ridiculous six-figure amount.  Even though it seems a terrible shame to put a price on motherhood, at least it gives us a measuring stick in terms that modern society can understand.

So I work hard to enjoy these precious 10 months or so that I have with Little Miss before we all get thrust back into the fast-running stream of work, daycare, home, chores, bed, repeat. I budget whilst making sure we still have a bit of fun. I do what work I can from home to bring in a little extra.

But even though it’s a totally different situation with a totally different partner who I know doesn’t have the same viewpoint, I still can’t seem to shut up those niggling inner demons about being perceived as a burden and not pulling my weight.

Not to harp on but …

My OCD can’t even deal

I’m tired.

Not just “Whew! I’m pooped!” but really, really tired. That deep-in-your-bones fuzzy head itchy eyeballs what the actual fuck tired. The tired that, unless you’ve had children or a chronic fatigue-type condition (which I’ve had … whilst wrangling a 6 month old, a 2 year old and a 5 year old … dear God, how am I still alive??), you don’t actually know what I’m talking about.

After six pretty easy-going months, Little Miss has decided to become a really shit night sleeper and I am trying desperately to figure out why and how to fix it.

On the plus side, her day naps have improved considerably …

I told NIH I was fine but perhaps that’s overstretching the truth a little, as an incident this morning may have proved.

We’ve moved to a larger place, which means we have a spare room for visitors.  It’ll be so much nicer having visitors now  in an actual house rather than three tiny rooms and an even tinier bathroom but we still suffered a of lack of bedding. The double blow-up mattress has had few complaints so far but there are times when we need to pull out the old single mattress from under our bed to accommodate more bodies.

For some visitors, a mattress on the floor is ok. It’s a pretty comfy inner spring mattress of an ample size – I’m now suspecting a King Single after this mornings’ efforts – but for others, it’s a little harder getting down and back up from that level.

Which is why we thought investing in a single bed frame and having the bed set up permanently made perfect sense. After all, Little Miss will eventually be sleeping in it … if she ever deigns to sleep again.

We ordered one of a reasonable cost and elegant design and it arrived the other day. Sweet.

I put it all together yesterday and it’s really solid and stable and looks good. Even sweeter.

After yet another disgraceful night of broken sleep, I thought I’d haul out the mattress and make it up today – even though our visitors don’t arrive until next week – so that NIH has somewhere to retreat to in the meantime when the all-night part-ay gets too much. After all, the poor guy has to go to work and act reasonably coherent whereas I stay home with a small person cares little if I’m coherent or not as long as I feed her. Sometimes I can even sneak in a nap if the planets all align.

So I dragged that cumbersome bastard out from under the bed and into the spare room. A touch more exercise than I’d prefer with so little sleep – it made my head spin a little but so far so good.

I lined it up next to the bed frame. All systems apparently are go, Houston.

Now, just to take a deep breath and lift that heavy mofo up and slide it on …

Fudge popsicles. It’s about an inch too long.

Not to be outdone, I puffed and squeezed and managed to slot it in between the header and footer … but it kinda looks like a caterpillar doing the wave. I could have cried.

I may have cried ….

Breastfeeding Categories

There’s so much information around about breastfeeding nowadays but something rarely discussed is the fact that no two breastfeeding sessions are quite the same. Sure, the mechanics are comparable but every feed is an adventure and you’re never quite sure how it’s going to go down.  As a former librarian, I have been known to enjoy a bit of cataloguing in my time, including the selection of appropriate subject headings and classifications. This post has been brewing in the back of my mind for some time and finally I think it’s ready to be shared.

Of course, every baby is different but here’s the 7 Breastfeeding Categories I’ve become all too familiar with over the past 16 weeks:

1. Blind Freddie

Sometimes called “The Tiny Octopus”, this one is part of the newborn phase.  It’s characterised by the eyes closed, head wobbling, mouth gaping, arms flailing baby that is desperately seeking yet not quite finding the nipple. Meanwhile, you’re desperately trying to hold them, move the flailing arms out of the way and guide them to said – usually excruciatingly sore – nipple that’s RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM, all with two hands.

Solution: Someone that you don’t mind getting up close and personal with your boob to shift those arms out of the way comes in handy – or grow an extra set of hands yourself. Whichever seems more achievable.

2. Drowning Man

Usually occurring (at least in my experience) in the wee small hours of the morning when the ‘girls’ have had a 7-8 hour break and are fully charged and ready to rumble. Baby latches on and gets more than bargained for. Cue coughing, choking and splutterings galore accompanied by startled looks and whole body flaps like a good-sized fish encased in terry towelling.

Solution: Fight against the flapping and sit baby up with a cloth to catch the overspill. Wait til baby stops gasping like a goldfish that’s hurled itself onto the lounge room floor. Discuss with baby how there’s a tube for eating and a tube for breathing and it’s a good idea not to get them mixed up. Start again – but this time, lean right back and let gravity make it easier on the poor little mite.

3. Babysutra

Once baby feels they are master of your domain (between 3 -4 months), they’ll start to experiment with different positions. That’s fun. For instance, did you know you can breastfeed standing up without a sling? Either did I until Little Miss decided that was the ONLY way she was taking it yesterday. For the past week, I’ve experimented with different positions in an attempt to appease the small dictator. For instance, she’s now decided that she prefers her feed from the right side lying down … which is fine when we’re home but not so much out in public.  I tried the football hold to see if it was about angles but she’s so long now that it was just ridiculous. Even she thought so (I could tell by the long-suffering look she gave me just before she yelled). I strongly suspect it’s so she can lie on the floor, eat and watch TV over my shoulder all at the same time. Hashtag multitasking like a boss.

Solution: If you can, go with it and try different positions. It makes for entertaining stories when hubby gets home and is far better than suffering the Bucking Bronco.

4. Bucking Bronco

They said they were hungry and it is about time for a feed. So how come they latch onto the nipple, only to rip themselves off a few seconds later and bounce around like a bucking horse trying to dislodge its rider, all the while yodelling like the Lonely Goatherd? Who knows? Babies are fiendishly fickle.

Solution: Try another position (see Babysutra). If that doesn’t work, try burping. If it’s still no good, tuck the girls away and change tack completely. If you’re feeling particularly cranky, you can tell baby that she’s not getting out of it completely and you’ll just be serving up the same dish later. She’ll probably fix  you with an “I don’t care” stare but at least you’ll feel better.

5. Drunken Pirate

Baby comes at your boob like a swashbuckling sailor, complete with one-eyed squints and attack cries of “arrgghh”. Boob is grabbed and motor-boated with delight before latching on. One arm wraps around the back of you and pinches the skin underneath your armpit while the other heads up top and beats on your chest. There’s groans of pleasure, lots of lip-smacking and even a few heave-ho’s between boob changes before collapsing in a milk-drunk heap with the nip hanging out one side of the mouth.

Solution: Nothing. Drunken Pirates are highly physical and very loud but generally good-natured. If you are feeding in bed beside your partner in the middle of the night, you could move to another room … but why should you be the only one to suffer?

6. Pervert

Similar to Drunken Pirate but less boisterous and more exploratory. Baby licks the nipple before latching on … then pops off … then licks … then latches on … etc etc. Meanwhile one hand is delicately stroking the skin under your armpit while the other is lightly caressing top-side. All this is done while baby has positioned their head so they can eyeball you intently. Whilst one understands baby is exploring and making sense of the world, one can’t help but feel slightly toyed with.

Solution: Pray they’ll grow out of it … or try not to make eye contact if it’s really creeping you out.

7. Snugglebunny

This is the classic Hollywood version of breastfeeding. Baby snuggles into you, eventually wrapping her entire body around you as she grows longer. Hands are similar to the Pervert position but there’s no creepy stroking – they’re just there, warm and soft and lovely. Eyes are closed, latch is perfect, feeding is pleasant and quiet.  Ahhhh bliss. When it happens at the 2am feed, there’s nothing quite as calming and peaceful. You find yourself gazing with bleary-eyed adoration at the little angel, and not even minding being woken in the middle of the night. Best of all, they finish with a sigh and let you put them straight back into bed without a whimper … or a loud and grunty poop.

Solution: Soak it up and enjoy it for as long as it lasts. In reality, they are little babies for such a preciously short time and you’ll actually find yourself looking back wistfully on this part of your life … once you’ve had enough sleep, that is.

Dark side of the baby

Before I go ahead and tarnish the up-til-now perfect reputation of Little Miss, I’d just like to reiterate how awesomely placid this kid is. She takes everything – and I do mean everything – in her stride with barely a whimper. From a few days after birth, we’ve taken her out and about and generally conditioned her to sleep whenever and wherever.

Ten days ago, she was woken at 1am, had a boob thrust in her mouth (no complaints there) then tossed in the car for a 1.5 hr drive up to Auckland, stuck in the sling, hauled to the airport, into a plane, across the Tasman, slung in the sling, hauled from International to Domestic, cuddled by Aunty and Uncle, back in the sling, onto a small pocket rocket before being greeted by lots of family she hadn’t met yet and a heat that she was not entirely familiar with. Travel time from whoa to go was approximately 14 hours.

She was magnificent.

Hardly a fuss was heard.

A wee little trooper.

Then she had days of being tossed around like a small cuddly football (it’s her own fault for being so cute, I reckon) as we made her introductions to all and sundry.  You have to understand – this kid is a miracle. We had people with their fingers crossed for years for us to hit the reproductive jackpot and finally all those positive thoughts coalesced into Little Miss. Consequently she was quite popular with the locals and let’s face it – everyone loves a baby.

 

Then the whirlwind week was over.

We were up at 7 am to say goodbye to her big brother at his work (and get one last coffee from him – he’s an amazing barista!) then troop around to family for breakfast then catch up with bigger brother before heading to the airport at 1 pm.

Then it was: sling – pocket rocket – sling from domestic to international – sleep on couch for 1 hr – sling – plane across the Tasman … and here’s where we start to break down …

She was a little grumbly on the plane. Nothing a boob didn’t fix, but we sensed a storm approaching. Fair enough, too. It was 11 pm NZ time so waaayyy past her bedtime. She eventually passed out in my arms about 45 minutes before landing in Auckland.

Then it was sling again so we could have enough hands to grab bags.

Still good.

We got through baggage and customs really quickly and were heading towards the shuttle bus area in record time, just taking the opportunity to do one last nappy change before retrieving our car and driving the 1.5 hrs home to Hamilton.

It was 12.30 am.

We took her out of the sling in the baby change room and she proceeded to goo and gaa and be smiley-cute while we changed her and told her she was our favourite baby because she’d been soooo amazing – not just for the flight but for the whole holiday.

It was a Kodak moment. Seriously.

Then we went to put her back in the sling for the last time.

And that, Officer, is how the fight started.

I think we can all agree that we’d really pushed the patience and good will of the poor little tyke and she’d handled it all with grace and aplomb. But that last tussle into the sling was the final straw for her.

She was in and I was doing up the clip on Daddy’s back when she arched her back and screamed so damn loud I thought a banshee had suddenly appeared in the room.

Uh-oh. Houston … we have a problem.

The wailing was less ‘cry-of-pain’ and more a roar of absolute fury. In fact,  she screamed so loud she actually choked herself and stopped breathing briefly.

Meanwhile, we’re frantically trying to figure out what’s wrong with the sling set-up. Was her arm trapped? Was her leg bent? Was there something sticking into her bum?

But no. She’d just reached her absolute limit and was letting us know in no uncertain terms that she was “Not. Happy. Jan!“.

Unfortunately, we needed her in that sling or we wouldn’t have enough hands between us to get her and bags out the door and onto the shuttle bus. Briefly, I wondered how the hell we were going to do this with a miniature Jack-Jack in tow.

I pulled her out and gave her a hug while Daddy checked everything over and gave the all-clear. Then we tried again.

This time, she cried and wrestled briefly but must have been all out of strength from her previous mini-explosion. Tired, miserable and all done in, she buried her head in her dad’s chest and passed out from exhaustion.

We breathed a sigh of relief, grabbed everything and got out while the getting was good. She slept the whole way home, through a final nappy change and into bed.

Watching her lose her shit, even if it was short-lived, was impressive though. Good to see the kid has a bit of bite!

Daddy knows best … apparently

Once a week Little Miss and I attend Space – a support program designed to facilitate connections with other new parents and their babies whilst exploring developmental milestones through baby’s first year.  Each week has a designated topic linked to activities such as singing, reading and craft. It’s brilliant and we love it!

Recently we covered the topic of “What does baby hear?” and we went around the room stating what our baby seems to respond positively to.  To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about Little Miss’s preferences regarding music until then, so last night we did a bit of experimenting before bedtime.

NIH suggested I start with the song we’d played for her a few times in the womb. We’d tried out a few and hadn’t really found one we liked (ok, one that we agreed on) so I had to ask him to specify.

“Metallica,” he said in an “of course” tone.

“‘Enter Sandman’? ” I scoffed.  “I don’t think that’s really a suitable lullaby.”

“Yes it is,” he replied, “Go on, try it.” then went off for a shower.

Muttering to myself that father, in this case, does NOT know best, I totally ignored him and started playing a selection of songs from a recent Facebook post I’d saved called “17 songs to help settle your baby that won’t drive parents mental” .

She stopped whinging to listen to Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars” and didn’t seem to mind Pearl Jam’s “Just Breathe” but to be honest, I don’t think she could have cared less about Jeff Buckley’s rendition of “Hallelujah”, no matter how soulful it sounded.

NIH came back into the room.

“Did you try it?” he asked.

“Pffft. No!” I replied.

[Cue baby starting to arc up again]

NIH looked at me and raised his eyebrows in that way only he knows how. It says “I’m right. You know I’m right. I’m not going to argue with you or force you to comply but still … I’m right.”

I sighed (loudly) and with no grace whatsoever found the song on YouTube and pressed play.

The little bugger shut up instantly.

“Just a coincidence!” I grumbled under my breath, avoiding his smug smile.  To prove my point, I flipped back to the next suggested song on my baby lullaby playlist – Coldplay’s “The Scientist”.

Turns out she hates Coldplay. With a passion. And she’s not afraid to demonstrate it.

“Bloody co-conspirators,” I grumbled and switched back to Metallica, whereupon she went back to sucking peacefully on her dummy with a drowsy stare that signals sleep is on the way.

NIH and I smiled delightedly at each other … this could be fun …

I’m not ashamed to say we toyed with our daughter’s emotions last night, flipping back and forth between the two songs and watching her reactions. It was, without a word of a lie, freakin’ hilarious.

She’d settle right down for “Sleep with one eye open; gripping your pillow tight” then start the wind up for “Nobody said it was easy“.

I’ve given birth to a heavy metal freak. Daddy does know best after all.

Oh baby!

Damn!

I believe I’ve previously touted the amazing health system in New Zealand, focusing in particular on maternity and after-birth care. I’ve experienced the most amazing support from the time I realised at 8 weeks that perhaps I should actually go to a doctor and get checked out since I seemed to be ‘still pregnant’ (usually we’d make it to 7 weeks tops before miscarrying).

Australians are uniquely blessed to be considered ‘honorary kiwis’ if they decide to move to NZ and plan on staying more than two years. This includes cheap doctor visits; free antenatal care from a registered midwife up until six weeks after baby is born; free ongoing support from Plunket after baby arrives and being able to get prescription medication for only $5 a pop.

Now, before I go on, perhaps I should do a shout-out to my older kids …

Hey guys!  Mummy is about to tell all about something that could be construed as embarrassing so feel free to look away! Look away now!

I’m going to talk about contraception … and in particular, the prescription I picked up from the chemist yesterday. You may have noticed the photo. That’s the ACTUAL BOX … or should I say “boxes” – all 12 of them.

Yep, 144 stolen moments of Confident Pleasure right there. And I say ‘stolen’ because that’s what happens when you have a small child that may wake up at any time and demand attention.

To be honest, when the midwife first brought up the topic of contraception post-baby, I scoffed. Firstly, the baby in question was only two weeks old and I was currently undergoing a stark reminder of the consequences of sex. Secondly, did she not realise how much of a miracle this little bundle was? The idea that we (and by that I mean ME) could actually conceive another child seemed ludicrous. And yet … lightning has been known to strike twice.

I don’t like chemical contraception (and all versions of it certainly doesn’t like me) so to alleviate their concern and show that I was moderately responsible, I opted for the good ol’ Love Glove.

Yep, I got a prescription from the midwife for 144 Frangers. One gross of Frenchies. French letters. Dingers. Rubbers. Sheaths. Raincoats. (Oh yes, I am loving googling all the slang terms for condoms but in the interests of my mum have kept it to the clean ones!).  And I got them all for the bargain price of $5.

Since life has settled down somewhat and the baby is now nine weeks and showing signs of sleeping longer through the night, sex may be a topic of conversation again. Even though I’m not sure we’ll even use them, I decided that perhaps I should get that prescription filled yesterday, if only to see what a years’ worth of condoms looks like.

I don’t know who was more flustered – the chemist handing over the ‘package’ or me trying to stuff the damn thing in the tray underneath the pram.

When I got them home, I took a photo and sent it to NIH at work with the caption “DAMN!”.  He was suitably impressed.

The instructions on the label say “USE when required”. I’ve checked the Use By date and fortunately we have until September 2021.

Thank god for that.

Drinks with the girls

Last Friday night I met up with two girlfriends from work for drinks and a catch-up. Of course (as with most of my expeditions) there was some minor drama beforehand to add to the excitement.  I won’t go into detail but suffice to say that due to circumstances out of my control, I had 20 minutes to get dressed, prettified, say goodbye to the baby (oh … and NIH), drive, find a parking spot and walk the 5 minutes to the bar.

Challenge not only accepted but achieved. What can I say? It’s a gift … and there was the promise of wine and gossip at the finish line!

For two hours we shared a bottle of wine, some hot nibbly food and chatter. It was such a treat for various reasons:

  1. I was out in clothes that I hadn’t fit into for some time – and not to boast but I think I looked pretty fine for someone who, up until 7 weeks ago, looked like Moby Dick’s twin sister
  2. The clothes were not chosen according to how discretely I could pop a boob out (although some may argue that’s precisely how you should dress for a Friday night out on the town)
  3. I got to spend time with two lovely women who make me laugh, keep me grounded and fill me in on happenings outside my temporary but very narrow world
  4. Hot food that I could eat without interruption
  5. Wine. Enough said.

My life at the moment revolves around a small, squinty-eyed dictator who calls the shots … and I’m ok with that. It’s all part of motherhood.

However, for a brief two hours I was just Me. And that’s something we mothers tend to put on the backburner – sometimes for so long we forget where we left it. Having a baby can be a very isolating experience if you let it so as a “Do-Over” mum who’s been through this before, I’d like to say “Don’t”.

Don’t forget who you are.

Don’t put off catching up with the outside world from time to time. It would have been far easier for me to just cancel, considering what was going on that afternoon but I had made plans and by golly I was going out, even if it meant I was late and it was only for a little while. Once you start down the road of opting out if it gets too tricky, it gets harder and harder to turn back. It’s ALWAYS going to be tricky with a baby. Work around it.

Don’t ditch your mates from BB (Before Baby). You need those girlfriends without kids just as much as you need girlfriends in the same boat as you. They not only remind you of who you were before but also give you a chance to talk about something other than sleeping, pooping or feeding. Make the effort. They are totally worth your time.

Take a step out of your routine of feeding, changing nappies and coaxing the little darling to go to sleep and do something for yourself.  It refreshes your batteries and makes you appreciate motherhood all the more.