A close friend of mine was in labour today. If you're anything like me, when one of your girlfriends is in labour you think about them all day, wondering if everything is ok and if they've welcomed their little bundle yet. I was on my way to the doctors in Mt.Martha this morning, Phoebs and Mais in tow, (the dreaded mastitis had struck again last night, and I was in agonies!) when Triple M played 'Lightning Crashes' by Live. Silly me stopped chattering inanely to my girls and listened closely to the lyrics. Big mistake. Before I knew it, I had chills running up and down my arms, and the tears were pricking behind my eyes. I had never really paid much attention to the song beyond the chorus (and admittedly, this was usually after several drinks at PA's during my uni days a looooooooooong time ago!) so I knew vaguely what it was about. Today, I heard every syllable and it made me very emotional (probably the sore booby too, but you get that!). Birth is exhilarating, wonderful, painful and scary. We take safe birthing for granted these days, but it is still amazing that mothers and babies survive such an arduous process every day.
I have so many wonderful friends who achieved natural deliveries for their children, some easily (and of course, I use this term very loosely!) and others with a great degree of difficulty. Even with the most straightforward of deliveries, it is an incredible achievement to gestate and give birth to a baby. It is no secret that I envy those who managed to deliver naturally, as it was something I never doubted I would be able to do until the crunch time came. Even four years after Jack's birth I find myself still questioning what went wrong, and what I could have done differently to avoid a caesarean. Logically I know that it was not my fault, and the most important outcome is a healthy baby and mum. After 20 hours of labour, 5 hours of pushing, failed forceps and a failed ventouse, obviously I was delighted to be handed a beautiful, alert, if somewhat battered, baby boy. It just took me a very long time to accept that a caesarean is not a failure. There is not a neon sign on my forehead proclaiming me to be a faux-mummy.
When I went to the obstetrician with a tiny weeny foetal Phoebe in my tummy, I asked about VBAC and was given an irrevocable NO as an answer. (Actually, he very gently asked if I wanted a dead baby or a healthy one...hmmm. Let me think about that for a nanosecond!) Phoebe and Maisie both had scheduled caesareans because it took Jack's birth to figure out my hips were not in fact "childbearing" (despite their generous external appearance!) I always hated it when people asked why we were having an "elective" caesar, because in my mind there wasn't a choice involved. If I wanted to have babies, I only had one way to get them out. So as you can see, I have had my fair share of angst over childbirth, and to some extent am still working through my issues!!!! (Remember when the psychologist raised her eyebrow at me the other day?? Think she was on to me??!!) What I need to remind myself of every day is to be grateful for my family. My children are healthy enough to be cheeky some of the time and I have not completely ruined them yet (I hope!) I only need to look at them and see the chubby limbs, long eyelashes, the veins under their pale skin, and their big blue eyes and realise how amazing it is that they are here at all.
And what of my lovely friend in hospital today? Well, as I sit here, cabbage leaves in my bra, Jack cuddling his (reinstated) teddy on the couch, Phoebe nursing her temperature next to me, and Maisie squealing at a toy on the floor, there is a family enjoying their new baby son. Regardless of how he arrived (scalpel, suction, or completely unfettered), what does it matter? Isn't his Mummy simply clever for making him at all? Congratulations and much love to Kate, Geoff, Jordan, Grace and Ariel on the safe arrival of William. We wish him a lifetime of love, happiness, challenges and reaching for the stars.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Heartbeats
Jack broke my heart today. He came to me, very solemnly, and said, "Mummy, I'm a big boy now, and big boys don't take their teddies to bed. So I don't love him anymore, ok?". I of course, ever the bleeding heart, just about blubbed on his little shoulder right there and then. Teddy (or Sleepy Bear, as he is officially known) has been Jack's bestest buddy since we found him in a bargain bin in Dollar Curtains. (Truth be told, I was seven months pregnant and was trying to entertain my 15 month old son while I selected blinds for our new house. I would have bought him anything to keep him occupied!!)
This isn't the first time my heart has been broken by my children. It was torn in two when Jack was three days old and got put into a humidicrib to treat his jaundice. He cried and cried and I wasn't allowed to hold him, so I cried and cried too. He smashed my heart into smithereens when he came to visit me in hospital when Phoebe was born. When Christian went to take him home, and he realised that Mummy wasn't coming too, he wailed so loudly that the nurses came running. As you can imagine, the baby blues came early that day!!
Phoebe took my heart in her tiny little hands when, at the age of 5 days, I couldn't feed her. The dreaded mastitis robbed me of a chance to breastfeed, so I would sit nursing her with a bottle and praying that she would know how much I loved her, despite my shortcomings. A tiny little part of me is still hurting from having to leave Phoebe in daycare at the age of seven months, simply because I had to work if we were to survive. Despite the fact that she now loves it and looks forward to her day there every week, I still remember clearly my heartbreak that day, and how I fronted up to a class of Year 8 students with red eyes and a runny nose!
Maisie may only be seven months old this week, but she has contributed her fair share of heartache to her mother! Even though Christian and I had decided on a girl's name before she was born, it was clear to me when I saw her face that it simply wouldn't do! Since Maisie went into the special care nursery for 24 hours after her birth, I had to wait for Christian to bring me photos on his mobile phone before we could decide on (another) name!!! What sort of mother names their child from a photo?? More heartache. Ten days later when I contracted septicaemia, only the enormous doses of morphine in my system prevented me from crying all over the ambos for leaving my poor, defenceless newborn with my poor, defenceless husband!! Guilt and heartache. A mother's currency.
So my heart has been broken by my children over many funny and sad experiences. It has also been mended by them too. After making his little announcement to me in the kitchen today, Jack went straight into the loungeroom, plopped down beside Maisie, and handed Teddy to her. Her eyes lit up, the pudgy little hands reached out, and of course, Teddy went straight into Maisie's mouth. She was delighted with her new toy, and Jack was delighted with himself for giving it to her. And my heart was mended for another day.
This isn't the first time my heart has been broken by my children. It was torn in two when Jack was three days old and got put into a humidicrib to treat his jaundice. He cried and cried and I wasn't allowed to hold him, so I cried and cried too. He smashed my heart into smithereens when he came to visit me in hospital when Phoebe was born. When Christian went to take him home, and he realised that Mummy wasn't coming too, he wailed so loudly that the nurses came running. As you can imagine, the baby blues came early that day!!
Phoebe took my heart in her tiny little hands when, at the age of 5 days, I couldn't feed her. The dreaded mastitis robbed me of a chance to breastfeed, so I would sit nursing her with a bottle and praying that she would know how much I loved her, despite my shortcomings. A tiny little part of me is still hurting from having to leave Phoebe in daycare at the age of seven months, simply because I had to work if we were to survive. Despite the fact that she now loves it and looks forward to her day there every week, I still remember clearly my heartbreak that day, and how I fronted up to a class of Year 8 students with red eyes and a runny nose!
Maisie may only be seven months old this week, but she has contributed her fair share of heartache to her mother! Even though Christian and I had decided on a girl's name before she was born, it was clear to me when I saw her face that it simply wouldn't do! Since Maisie went into the special care nursery for 24 hours after her birth, I had to wait for Christian to bring me photos on his mobile phone before we could decide on (another) name!!! What sort of mother names their child from a photo?? More heartache. Ten days later when I contracted septicaemia, only the enormous doses of morphine in my system prevented me from crying all over the ambos for leaving my poor, defenceless newborn with my poor, defenceless husband!! Guilt and heartache. A mother's currency.
So my heart has been broken by my children over many funny and sad experiences. It has also been mended by them too. After making his little announcement to me in the kitchen today, Jack went straight into the loungeroom, plopped down beside Maisie, and handed Teddy to her. Her eyes lit up, the pudgy little hands reached out, and of course, Teddy went straight into Maisie's mouth. She was delighted with her new toy, and Jack was delighted with himself for giving it to her. And my heart was mended for another day.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Domestic Goddess
We were up nearly all of last night comforting poor Phoebe, who had a raging temperature and needed cuddles every 30 minutes. As a result of this the girls and I hunkered down today and didn't leave the house at all. Of course, Maisie thinks every day is wonderful as long as the Dairy Queen is close by, and Phoebe was delighted to stay in her jarmies, watching hours of Dora and being allowed to eat on the couch. I spent the majority of the day running around like the proverbial chook, doing many jobs badly and finishing none.
I started thinking (as I typically do on most weekdays at about 4pm) that I seem to spend a lot of time doing housework and looking after children, while rarely feeling a sense of achievement. If you asked me at the end of a "normal" (there's that word again!) day what I had done, unless we had been somewhere for a visit or a play, I would say "nothing". Ordinarily, that's where the thought would have ended. However today it occurred to me that like an episode of Seinfeld, in order to keep the main story flowing (that is, the family fed, clothed and happy) there is an extraordinary amount of behind-the-scenes work.
So what exactly did I do today? Put on three loads of washing, folded the dry washing off the line, changed 8 nappies, read 3 stories, played 'shops' with a listless 2 year old, sat on the couch cuddling the listless 2 year old, made several different meals to tempt the listless 2 year old, and threw most of them out. Made yummy vegetable puree for Maisie, scraped the vegetable puree off the highchair after she'd 'eaten' it, changed Mais into clothes that did not resemble orange mush. Breastfed Maisie three times for nourishment and twice to get her to go to sleep. Put clean sheets on Jack's bed after a little accident in the night. Washed the dishes after breakfast, lunch and dinner. Made dinner for Jack, Christian and myself, and threw Phoebs' dinner in the bin.
I know that I am typical of many stay-at-home mummies, and that the above only describes a very quiet day undisturbed by tantrums, car trips, emergencies and the like. I am also very aware that this blog is in danger of becoming deadly dull!!!! However, what I have realised after thinking about today is that it doesn't matter if I finish my jobs (as long as there's Weetbix in the pantry and clean undies to wear, of course!), because when my babies are all grown-up I won't remember having clean floors and folded washing. What I will remember is the cuddles on the couch and going into my bedroom to find Phoebe's baby doll tucked up on my pillow. I will remember Maisie lying squealing with laughter on the floor and going cross-eyed staring at a piece of bread. And I can only hope that my babies remember a Mummy who loved spending time with them and had time to play with them, just like mine did. Because that is the biggest achievement of all.
I started thinking (as I typically do on most weekdays at about 4pm) that I seem to spend a lot of time doing housework and looking after children, while rarely feeling a sense of achievement. If you asked me at the end of a "normal" (there's that word again!) day what I had done, unless we had been somewhere for a visit or a play, I would say "nothing". Ordinarily, that's where the thought would have ended. However today it occurred to me that like an episode of Seinfeld, in order to keep the main story flowing (that is, the family fed, clothed and happy) there is an extraordinary amount of behind-the-scenes work.
So what exactly did I do today? Put on three loads of washing, folded the dry washing off the line, changed 8 nappies, read 3 stories, played 'shops' with a listless 2 year old, sat on the couch cuddling the listless 2 year old, made several different meals to tempt the listless 2 year old, and threw most of them out. Made yummy vegetable puree for Maisie, scraped the vegetable puree off the highchair after she'd 'eaten' it, changed Mais into clothes that did not resemble orange mush. Breastfed Maisie three times for nourishment and twice to get her to go to sleep. Put clean sheets on Jack's bed after a little accident in the night. Washed the dishes after breakfast, lunch and dinner. Made dinner for Jack, Christian and myself, and threw Phoebs' dinner in the bin.
I know that I am typical of many stay-at-home mummies, and that the above only describes a very quiet day undisturbed by tantrums, car trips, emergencies and the like. I am also very aware that this blog is in danger of becoming deadly dull!!!! However, what I have realised after thinking about today is that it doesn't matter if I finish my jobs (as long as there's Weetbix in the pantry and clean undies to wear, of course!), because when my babies are all grown-up I won't remember having clean floors and folded washing. What I will remember is the cuddles on the couch and going into my bedroom to find Phoebe's baby doll tucked up on my pillow. I will remember Maisie lying squealing with laughter on the floor and going cross-eyed staring at a piece of bread. And I can only hope that my babies remember a Mummy who loved spending time with them and had time to play with them, just like mine did. Because that is the biggest achievement of all.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Being normal
Another normal day in the O'Toole household.
Maisie in our bed until 3am? Normal.
Christian up at 5.30am to leave at 6.15am? Normal.
Doing a rather large shop at "Colds" (Pheebs' description!) with baby and toddler in the trolley, while simultaneously being on the mobile with the bank manager? Normal. (By the by, I asked Phoebe what we needed to buy at the supermarket today. She replied, "A lady". Perhaps my little daughter has been reading Daddy's letters to Santa??)
Driving to Berwick to see the family psychologist? Ahem. Normal. (I will admit that this is indeed a 'normal' part of our lives at the moment as an after-effect of the home invasion in February. She has helped us immeasureably, but I still feel like one of 'those' mothers when I mention my four-year-old's psych appointments! We were completing the final paperwork today before magistrates' court. When she asked me to confirm I had no prior consultations with a psychiatrist, and I said no, I swear she raised an eyebrow!)
Picking up Jack from pre-school and bringing home a slew of paper and polystyrene creations, all of which apparently "shoot baddies with lasers"? Normal.
Putting three very tired children to bed and knowing that Christian won't be home for at least another hour? Normal.
Knowing that I should go to bed while the going's good but instead staying up to watch Rafters? Normal!!!!!
Maisie in our bed until 3am? Normal.
Christian up at 5.30am to leave at 6.15am? Normal.
Doing a rather large shop at "Colds" (Pheebs' description!) with baby and toddler in the trolley, while simultaneously being on the mobile with the bank manager? Normal. (By the by, I asked Phoebe what we needed to buy at the supermarket today. She replied, "A lady". Perhaps my little daughter has been reading Daddy's letters to Santa??)
Driving to Berwick to see the family psychologist? Ahem. Normal. (I will admit that this is indeed a 'normal' part of our lives at the moment as an after-effect of the home invasion in February. She has helped us immeasureably, but I still feel like one of 'those' mothers when I mention my four-year-old's psych appointments! We were completing the final paperwork today before magistrates' court. When she asked me to confirm I had no prior consultations with a psychiatrist, and I said no, I swear she raised an eyebrow!)
Picking up Jack from pre-school and bringing home a slew of paper and polystyrene creations, all of which apparently "shoot baddies with lasers"? Normal.
Putting three very tired children to bed and knowing that Christian won't be home for at least another hour? Normal.
Knowing that I should go to bed while the going's good but instead staying up to watch Rafters? Normal!!!!!
Monday, August 2, 2010
White trash road rage
Quiet days always trip you up, don't they? You're sailing along quite nicely, and then bam! Flat on your face. The big kids invented a great game this morning which I promptly named "White trash road rage". Jack was given a couple of cars by one of my friends (thanks Nikk!) that have beeping horns and play rock music when you press various buttons on them (like the electric guitar on Melrose Place when Amanda would get angry - you know?). Anyway, Jack and Phoebe had one car each, and they were hooning them around the loungeroom having a great time. Every so often they would play the electric guitar music and get up and dance. Given that Jack was once again wearing his Superman suit, and Pheebs was decked out in a tight skivvy, a nappy and a dummy, it was all about glamour. After a while the dancing got more frenetic (Phoebe produced some really disturbing hip-swivels) and then the deliberate smashing of vehicles began. As I said - white trash road rage.
Anyway, after avoiding a major bust-up I proceeded to try and be a proper Mummy and did some all-too-necessary housework. It was about 2:30 this afternoon that I realised that I was about to be tripped up in a big way. Why? Because the house was tidy, the kids were not only clean, dressed and fed, they were behaving impeccably, and we were on our way to being on-time for a doctor's appointment. I looked around the shining loungeroom, lined the kidlets up at the front door, grabbed the immaculate nappy bag....where were the car keys? Hmmm. After looking quickly in all the usual hiding places, I had one of those moments of clarity (few and far between, I assure you). We had taken both sets of keys with us on Saturday and put one in the glove box...which meant that the car keys I needed were safely ensconced inside the car. Great.
A couple of frantic (and fruitless) phone calls to Christian later, I managed to borrow my mother-in-law's car and got to the appointment on time and only slightly frazzled. Bless her cotton socks, she even kept the two girls at home for me! Who knows what white trash road rage could have been witnessed on the streets of Mount Martha if I'd dragged them all with me after that debacle?!?!
Anyway, after avoiding a major bust-up I proceeded to try and be a proper Mummy and did some all-too-necessary housework. It was about 2:30 this afternoon that I realised that I was about to be tripped up in a big way. Why? Because the house was tidy, the kids were not only clean, dressed and fed, they were behaving impeccably, and we were on our way to being on-time for a doctor's appointment. I looked around the shining loungeroom, lined the kidlets up at the front door, grabbed the immaculate nappy bag....where were the car keys? Hmmm. After looking quickly in all the usual hiding places, I had one of those moments of clarity (few and far between, I assure you). We had taken both sets of keys with us on Saturday and put one in the glove box...which meant that the car keys I needed were safely ensconced inside the car. Great.
A couple of frantic (and fruitless) phone calls to Christian later, I managed to borrow my mother-in-law's car and got to the appointment on time and only slightly frazzled. Bless her cotton socks, she even kept the two girls at home for me! Who knows what white trash road rage could have been witnessed on the streets of Mount Martha if I'd dragged them all with me after that debacle?!?!
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Superman and Trinkerbell got married
Today the washing went unwashed, the floors went unswept, and the shopping stayed on the shelves at Coles. Instead, I spent a generous portion of the day sitting on the floor with Maisie Mouse on my lap, playing with Phoebalina Ballerina. Phoebe concocted a wonderful outfit for me from the dress-up box, consisting of bunny ears, a scarf and butterfly wings. She was a vision in her "Trinkabell" costume, heavily accessorised with a doctor's kit. When Christian and Jack came home from a jaunt to Mornington we girls had pretty much exhausted our medical examinations of Phoebe's dollies. Jack donned his Superman (or "Suitaman" as he used to call it!) costume and suggested that he and Trinkabell should get married! Now, I was as curious as the next person to see what they would do, especially after Jack's efforts in giving birth to a tennis ball a few weeks ago. First, they put their arms around each other quite formally and moved around in a waltz-type dance. Then they separated and started dancing wildly (I thought this might represent the reception!!) and then began running in circles, singing completely different songs. The entire event culminated in a fight. Now what I want to know is, how did they know how to represent a marriage so succinctly?
Introducing the team
Christian and I were called 'Team O'Toole" when we taught together a few years ago, and the name stuck. Now that the kids have arrived, we are definitely NOT the captains of the team anymore...
Jack is almost four and a half, and in the last few months has become a typical boy obsessed with cars, dragons and 'baddies". He was named after three of his great-grandfathers, not the 2006 Herald-Sun Top 10 Boys Names List. I love the fact he has three old-fashioned names with a family connection behind them. I also love the fact that if ever I need to pull out "Jack Albert Frederick O'Toole!!" at a playground to get him into the car, it will be excruciatingly embarrassing for him. Probably for me too. Like most four year olds, he loves anything ridiculous, and recently has begun inventing his own little language which has seeped into the family vocabulary. One of the most commonly used words in our family is "toonkynunk", which loosely translates as "silly-billy", as in "you're a toonkynunk" or "silly toonky!". Rarely is it used in a mean spirit, however it definitely has the potential to do so! Jack has doted on Maisie since the day she was born and will happily spend ages making up silly dances to make her laugh. He is also Phoebe's best friend and would defend her to the death...as long as she wasn't being a complete and utter toonkynunk to him!
Phoebe is our eldest daughter, and will be three in September. All she wants for her birthday is a pink cake (which I think I can manage after Jack wanted a Lightning McQueen cake for his last birthday!). Phoebe was named after Christian's favourite character in "The Catcher In The Rye", a fact we had to explain to the nurses in hospital who thought it was for Phoebe from 'Friends'. Since there is only a gap of 17 months between the two of them (the doctor told us after Jack's birth we'd be very lucky to have any more children and it could take a long time. Uh huh.), I think Jack and Pheebs feel more like twins than siblings. Certainly Phoebe presents a tough little exterior to people, but she is a complete and utter marshmallow. She loves nothing more than cuddling up with a book, or playing with her babies. All of her dolls are named "Baby Mais" after the love of her life. I have had to restrain her more than once from feeding Maisie with her grotty dolls' bottles!!
The undisputed leader of our little team is Maisie Mouse, born in January this year. She is undeniably the cruisiest baby ever, and takes disturbed naps and toys being "shared" with her with aplomb. So far, Mais is following the same developmental program as her brother and sister - no plans to move anywhere in the foreseeable future, but already trying desperately to talk. I have no idea where they all get their propensity for chatting. Seriously. Like most mothers of several children, I am attempting desperately to keep Maisie little for as long as possible. Like most babies of the family, Mais is already trying to be a big kid! Thankfully, she is a Mumma's girl so I will just have to make the most of the baby snuggles while I can. I am actually typing this with one finger while holding Maisie as she sleeps - terrible, I know, but it's my secret indulgence!!
Jack is almost four and a half, and in the last few months has become a typical boy obsessed with cars, dragons and 'baddies". He was named after three of his great-grandfathers, not the 2006 Herald-Sun Top 10 Boys Names List. I love the fact he has three old-fashioned names with a family connection behind them. I also love the fact that if ever I need to pull out "Jack Albert Frederick O'Toole!!" at a playground to get him into the car, it will be excruciatingly embarrassing for him. Probably for me too. Like most four year olds, he loves anything ridiculous, and recently has begun inventing his own little language which has seeped into the family vocabulary. One of the most commonly used words in our family is "toonkynunk", which loosely translates as "silly-billy", as in "you're a toonkynunk" or "silly toonky!". Rarely is it used in a mean spirit, however it definitely has the potential to do so! Jack has doted on Maisie since the day she was born and will happily spend ages making up silly dances to make her laugh. He is also Phoebe's best friend and would defend her to the death...as long as she wasn't being a complete and utter toonkynunk to him!
Phoebe is our eldest daughter, and will be three in September. All she wants for her birthday is a pink cake (which I think I can manage after Jack wanted a Lightning McQueen cake for his last birthday!). Phoebe was named after Christian's favourite character in "The Catcher In The Rye", a fact we had to explain to the nurses in hospital who thought it was for Phoebe from 'Friends'. Since there is only a gap of 17 months between the two of them (the doctor told us after Jack's birth we'd be very lucky to have any more children and it could take a long time. Uh huh.), I think Jack and Pheebs feel more like twins than siblings. Certainly Phoebe presents a tough little exterior to people, but she is a complete and utter marshmallow. She loves nothing more than cuddling up with a book, or playing with her babies. All of her dolls are named "Baby Mais" after the love of her life. I have had to restrain her more than once from feeding Maisie with her grotty dolls' bottles!!
The undisputed leader of our little team is Maisie Mouse, born in January this year. She is undeniably the cruisiest baby ever, and takes disturbed naps and toys being "shared" with her with aplomb. So far, Mais is following the same developmental program as her brother and sister - no plans to move anywhere in the foreseeable future, but already trying desperately to talk. I have no idea where they all get their propensity for chatting. Seriously. Like most mothers of several children, I am attempting desperately to keep Maisie little for as long as possible. Like most babies of the family, Mais is already trying to be a big kid! Thankfully, she is a Mumma's girl so I will just have to make the most of the baby snuggles while I can. I am actually typing this with one finger while holding Maisie as she sleeps - terrible, I know, but it's my secret indulgence!!
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