Ode to Gizelle

I have a personal trainer. It's such a treat. An expensive treat, but I think I deserve it (3-children-in-3-years syndrome). Aside from the obvious advantage of accountability, which I really, really need, she makes me feel valuable. OK, I'm a "client" and she has to keep me coming to keep getting paid, but when you're a mom looking after everyone else's needs, it's really cool to have someone looking after yours. She customises my exercise routine for ME. She is 100% focussed on me. She takes me seriously if I say "I'm buggered" (which is frequently, but getting better), she's careful about my caesar scar, she's upped my cardio work (at my request), and through it all, it seems she likes me. Pretty cool, eh?
See. Money can buy you friends...

still a baby

being a baby is such tiring work

a little low

Been feeling a little low the last few day... Considering drugs (again). Anybody got recommendations or referals?

Ant is 4 months old (on Saturday)

Things I love about you at 4 months:
• The way you LOVE your bath. You get so excited when I take your clothes off and then kick great big kicks and splashes in your bath chair. And squeal with delight. I don’t have to entertain you at all.
• You’re not self-conscious about your mullet hairstyle. I’m learning not to be too.
• You smile so hard sometimes it looks like you might just smile right out of your skin. Sometime you smile and hold your hands up to your face and curl into a ball and roll away. Then you look back with this “is that cute enough for you?” look. Yes. Way cute. Way too cute. Oh, and the way you smile behind your dummy. And sometimes your open-mouth, tongue-quivering smile pops your dummy right out, and you don’t care.
• The way you huff and puff when you see your bottle and grab at it with both hands.
• That you’re sleeping through. From 7-ish to 5-ish. AND you usually have a big sleep during the day. Like somewhere between 2½ and 3½ hours.
• The way you try to copy my mouth movements, especially when I say “hello” (show us tongue, baby) and “baba” (movin’ that bottom lip, babe)
• That you blink with surprise when I make loud kissing sounds and zurbits. And then grin.
• Your giggle (with a little hiccup at the end) when I kiss your neck (I have to search for your neck in amongst your many chins)
• That you’re fascinated by your brothers, and they make you smile without meaning too.
• You complete us. Five is a good number, for us. (“We live in Glen-da-vaar. Timmy and me live in Glen-da-vaar. And Mom and Dad and Ant all live in Glen-da-vaar.”)

And what I don’t like so much
• That you’re all alone in your big-boy room. You don’t get to share it with a twin brother. The first time you went in there, I felt so lost and lonely for you. You didn’t seem to mind, though.
• That you’re still “spitting up” (plain old VOMITING, great milky vomits)
• That you’re pretty used to having a bunch of smiling faces around you. So when I’m making supper and the boys are bathing and you can’t see me, you moan. And perform.
• That I’m back to work and I’m leaving you behind with Granny. I feel like I’m missing out. Why couldn’t Granny and I had you together during my maternity leave? You know, tea and boiled eggs on the beach, just the three of us.

not a good night

I think in the past week, my nearly-three-year old sons have woken me about twice as many times as my 4-month-old-and-sleeping-through-(until-5am) son. It's infuriating. I remember a time when I just finished rocking and singing Matt to sleep (at about 7 months) when Tim woke up (after sleeping through Matt's controlled-crying) to be rocked and sung to. I banged my head against the wall. About 5 times. Making very sure to bang it where my fringe would cover up the mark, so I would still be able to say: "my twins are just super" and "we're coping really well" to anyone who asked.
Last night I sent Gareth to Ant (woke at about 10.30 for help with his dummy). Matt woke at 11.48. Gareth grunted: "is it Ant again", to which I huffed: "no, Matt". I managed to trip over Ant's car seat and ram my shoulder into the bookcase taking the corner too early on the way there, and stand on a cockroach and a pram on the way back . I can't see at that hour, not even by the light of my screensaver. Matt said to my "what IS all this crying about": "I just need the door open, mom". For heaven's sake.
So, this morning I'm grumpy. I'm grumpy from not enough sustained sleep. I'm grumpy because I have to work and I really don't want to. I'm grumpy because I've committed myself to gym (and paid for it) and I really don't want to. I'm grumpy because I have no energy. None at all.
There. Parenting isn't for sissies. Life isn't for sissies. Now get over it.

Mirrors and lights

Children are mirrors.
Listening to Timothy praising Matthew on his drawing yesterday really reminded me of this again. Gareth and I are often surprised at how much they pick up, especially when we don't think they're listening... We're having to be careful about what we say, especially about other people, but also about ourselves. It's going to come out. Really. Like "Dad, you've got a hairy bum." Seriously, it's going to crack Ali up.
I've been thinking about 2005 (because I'm at work and reading blogs with such thought-lines). Of course, it's all about children. Nothing else of any significance happened to us last year. Just children. I've learned to take (perhaps CLAIM is a better word) more credit for how my children are turning out (both positive and negative).
they're sharp because i am
they're affectionate because i am
they yell because i do
they have issues with food because i do
they ask questions (all the time) because i do
they share because i do (and perhaps because i demand it, too)
And Gareth, of course he has some part...
they tickle because he does
they laugh (especially Tim) because he does
they're into routine because he is
they love to learn about animals because he does
they have hairy bums... ok that's getting into genetics and stuff. we won't go there...
You know, once I get over the hang-ups about myself (work-in-progress), this could be really cool. It's a pretty amazing way to get to know ourselves. Very cool.
And I leave you with:
“I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise.” -Dawna Markova
It's a big ask, and is elegantly phrased. I think it's the first sentence that really gets me. Besides I don't have a fear of falling or catching fire. Perhaps running out of petrol or getting a flat tyre, but not falling and fire. Thankfully.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas, all! We had a wonderfully chilled day, which is remarkable, seeing we have three boys under the age of three, I’m renown for being (just a little) tense these days, and we were catering for 14 (excluding the three boys!) Managed to fit in 80 winks after champagne and orange juice, and a swim 10 minutes before the guests arrived. We got paid the biggest complement: “Your boys are so well behaved. You’re doing a great job bringing them up.”
Father Christmas was very generous… lots of crappy toys for the boys to keep them entertained in the short term (and no angst when they break), and some amazing things to keep them occupied in the long term (a 10 disk DVD set on animals, thanks Kath). I got some very expensive perfume, whoohooo. Take your socks off, please, Father Christmas. Tee hee.
Weather hasn’t been great… the wind’s been blowing gales, swinging from East to West at whim. Nasty. But we can usually find a sheltered spot… at the river where the boys play with their boggie [sic] boards and Nemo glasses. Ant just sleeps under the tent with Pops.

Ant's got a hair style

Or perhaps it's a non-style... He had the sides of his head shaved when in hospital (to get a drip in, which they never managed, thank heavens!) and the back of head has been rubbed smooth. So now he looks a bit like a monk - long on top and very long at the back. Mom and I were laughing at him, and he caught the joke (and didn't seem in the slighest bit offended).


And we've started potty-training the boys. Oh, boy. My life is very very shitty. Now I'm thinking I'll just take that pink pill WHEN I GET UP, and not wait until I'm almost on the edge...

Happy Birthday, Kit-Kat!

My “baby sister” is 28! I can hardly believe it. And so wise and grown-up. And absolute gorgeous. Happy Happy Birthday, Pretty Girl. We love you tons, Kath.

Quite perceptive

Tim: Matt's a tiny little... shepherd.

Did he overhear someone (not us!)? Or did he figure this one out for himself?

I'm not an angel, Mom

Mom: Goodnight, Mommy's little angel
Tim: I'm not an angel, Mom
Mom: Goodnight, Mommy's big boy
Tim: I'm not a big boy, Mom. I'm a MOO COW.

Life's Too Short

Today, I'm thinking, is just too short. The days are too short to do everything I want to... We have a saying at work, when deadlines loom, "a day has 24 hours, and then there's the night". If only. I want to spend time with Ant before he grows up more, I want to play with my big boys (separately), I want to go to the gym (personal trainer included, please), I want to go back to work and be good at it, I want to canoe at least 3 times a week, I want to cook nutritious meals (fresh from Jamie Oliver's kitchen)... It's all too much for the short 24 hours we have in a day.
In fact, Life's Too Short. When I drive Emma's bakkie, I want to be a farmer's wife. When I watch "Grand Designs", I want to be an architect. When I read the Saturday property papers, I want to buy a farm, or a least a property big enough so that you can't see your neighbours and they can't see you. When I see pictures of the wild coast, I want to opt out of the rat race and start a B&B or better still, a backpackers. When I watch the travel channel, I want to travel to South America, to Thailand and Indonesia, to Canada, to sail the east African coastline (avoiding pirates) and the Mediterranean...
Is this disatisfaction (with my life now)? Or is the challenge of new things? Am I living too much in the future to enjoy the present?
Life is just way too short.

And they take to the water

Being the rather Fat Bastard I am at the moment, it took great encouragement to get me onto the canooooo. We paddled up the Glen Eden river into Inkwenkwezi (Private Game Reserve) yesterday at lunchtime. My mom had our three boys quite efficiently under control (Grannies are possibly the world’s greatest invention), and although it was pouring with rain, we headed out. It was stunning. We saw three types of king fisher and caught a glimpse of our resident juvenile long-crested eagle. I find paddling a great opportunity to “talk” (sorry, Gareth), most often about my dreams of a better life (from travelling to getting a full-time maid). I’ve angst about whether this is borne out of dissatisfaction (I don’t think so), so have concluded it’s more about the need for progress. I realised, again, how fortunate we are to have such beautiful spots on our doorstep. Just got to get out more!

Anyone for tennis?

We’re down at the swings this morning with Matt & Tim, and I’m reclining on the grass… Gareth says: “It looks like you’ve got a tennis ball in your bra.” Well, it feels more like a ball of lead. That’s rather sensitive. I played with the boys with great gusto, first time in months. I feel like I’m on the mend – both physically and emotionally.
Bottlefeeding is going well. Ant’s taken to it with no trouble. Except the occasional “vomay” (Emma-speak for “vomit”). Just the usual “I’ve a burb under that bit of milk” kind. Nothing to worry about, except, pass me that cloth, please. He’s sleeping a lot (could it be post-traumatic-stress?) and is quite happy. The first bottle took him by surprise, and he looked up at me with a rather perplexed look, but that was probably just my feelings being transferred onto his face.
This is the road I’d rather not have travelled, but here we are. Now I need to learn to enjoy the scenery.

Enough's enough

Enough pain, enough tears, enough swearing, enough fighting, enough bleeding, enough expressing, enough discomfort, enough insomnia, enough blues, enough aloneness, enough frustration, enough anger, enough dreading...
Enough guilt, enough blame, enough failing, enough decisions...

More enjoyment, more family, more cuddles, more hugs, more time, more fun..

Yip. My breastfeeding experience is ending. It’s sad. Very sad. There’s something rather satisfying about being able to nourish a baby completely from your own body. There’s something special about watching a baby enjoying a drink and then being so full and drunk with your milk that he lolls his head and falls asleep with his mouth open. And it’s so frustrating because I don’t have a problem with enough milk. In fact, I have a slight problem with too much milk, like I can barely go 4 hours and I’m popping, needing to express or wake him to relieve me. But I’ve tried everything. But I think this is now outside my “sphere of influence”.
The feeding since Thursday has got worse again. I hoped that things would get progressively better. In fact I remember saying that the pain can only get better, it can’t get worse. But it did. And the bleeding on Thursday was the worse it’s ever been. So, enough’s enough.
We have all the “equipment”, including a lactation inhibitor (reading the insert made me cry). So we’re off on a parallel road, that’ll get us to the same place in the end.
And I’ve bought champagne. To celebrate this as a victory of 6 weeks, not a failure of 6 weeks.

Complete

Had a good session scrapbooking yesterday… 4 of us got together… 3 absolute beginners & me. I got this done:

Here’s to creativity… I find it healing & restorative

A Windy Day

The wind is absolutely howling today. Like lift-the-tiles-off-the-roof howling. So no getting out today! I nearly got blown off the deck taking that photo (towards Glen Eden, into the teeth of the west wind). I tried to catch one of Anthony’s cute smiles on the camera today, but it’s hard. It’s a two person job. One to convince him to smile with lots of giggles and “you’re a gorgeous boy” in high pitched tones, the other to take the photo. Oh, well. Good enough, me thinks.
Tomorrow we’re into town to get Anthony’s 6-week jabs, and for me to get a haircut. Can’t wait for that haircut. And I have a long list of things to buy, cos Ant’s settling into a good routine now, giving me about 3 hours of “me time”, which I’d like to fill up with scrapbooking and perhaps some card making.
Matt was pretty sick last night – bad cough and running a very high temperature. Mooti did nothing, but we managed to cool him down with stripping him to his nappy (he wanted that off too, not a good idea) and blowing on him (wouldn’t have the cool cloth near him). I ended up sleeping in his bed (books tell you not to do this, cos your body heat doesn’t help, but I lay far enough not to touch him, but close enough for him to know I was there). He says “Mom, please stay. I got friends.” (the obvious opposite to “I got no friends…” his latest phrase). Comforting him was good for both of us. Quality time.

A Good Day

It’s been a good day today, and this is why:

My angel has had a long sleep, allowing me to prepare some veg for older boys, do some scrapbooking (well, playing with paper, at least), some surfing (the internet kind… 2Peas, of course) and I’ve had a shower and 2 square (ish) meals. Amazing. Now I even blog. And I got out: I walked over to Natalie Kriel’s place, catching a glimpse of a beautiful sea (thanks to the west wind yesterday).
Update: I’m still breastfeeding… I have all the necessities to start weaning, but haven’t started. It’s like I have enough milk, and the pain can’t really get worse (we’re now recovering from thrush), so I’ll stick it out a bit longer. And I’m a ninny: I can hardly go 4.5 hours between feeds, how am I going to SKIP a feed to give him a bottle? I’m ready for relief now, and it’s only been 3 hrs since his last one. Ant’s stretching to 5 hours for one night feed, but other than that we’re on a 3-4 hr schedule.
The “other” boys have been testing us. Really testing us. I’m failing the test convincingly, but Gareth is still keeping Team Parent ahead. His patience and staying-power is unnerving. But we still manage some giggles: I often call the boys “my angels”, in an attempt to convince both myself and them, but Tim’s latest is “I’m NOT an angel, I’m a MOO COW” (They have their parts now for the nativity play, and you guessed it, Tim’s a cow, and PROUD of it. So, not more calling him an angel.) Somehow, “Mommy’s little moo cow” doesn’t have the same ring. But if it makes him happy…
And finally… tomorrow’s payday for me, and I haven’t been at work. This is good.

An exciting moment...

...in my day-to-day existence: I went to the shop at Glen Eden, in Emma’s diesel bakkie, to buy a phone card, and got half-price off a roll of nearing-Nov-expiry-date fruit pastels (cue: applause that I didn’t buy chocolate). And the short trip put Ant to sleep, which is a Good Thing, a very Good Thing. He hasn’t slept much today… and today’s a day I have a bit of energy. Oops, I think I jinxed it… he’s grizzling and starting to wake.
Ok, I now type with one hand (right) while I shoegel babe in other. Oh, & the font is set at 18 pt, cos I can’t find my glasses (sunnies make the screen dark & blurry).
You guessed it… I’m just not built right for this SAHM thing (Stay At Home Mom – an Americanism). I think it’s cos I’m not all that thrilled with my own company… Ant isn’t interacting enough to be called “company”, although I might have caught a hint of a smile which wasn’t wind-related. Don’t know where he learnt it from, with all my grimacing and tears while breastfeeding. Perhaps his brothers have been smiling at him while I wasn’t watching.
OK, put baby down, and he’s awake again, sucking his thumb. So I’ll keep this short… To answer some questions:
“Bean” came from “Kerri-bean” – a friend/acquaintance (Cathy Lloyd, remember her, Heids?) in std 6 coined the nickname by rebelliously writing it on a desk in red koki. Somehow it stuck. Got shortened to just “Bean” and at varsity to “KGB” (perhaps a sign that Gareth would get stuck in the middle of my life?)
Mythbusters is a programme on Discovery – a team of mad scientists (special-effects dudes) called Jamie & Adam go about scientifically testing common myths to check if they’re real. Some good ones have been whether toast falls butter side down (last night) and whether you save petrol by having your A/C on instead of your windows down. They’re a hoot, really. And when they can’t get things to blow up (like your cellphone in a petrol station), then they just put in some explosives and call the fire department.
OK, now Ant requires my attention. This is maternity leave, after all. I must be a mom, first & foremost. Later…

Cabin fever cure

I decided to beat cabin fever early today, by getting out for a walk to the deck. With Ant joey-sleeping in the kanga, I meandered down. I was rewarded with a sea of that beautiful translucent grey-green colour I love so much, diamonds of sunlight dancing on the waves and dolphins swimming in a lazy circle. I really must get out more.