Exit strategy.

So much for Womb Raider Wednesdays where I promised a weekly update on all things Raider and Home Invader. No time! I am now almost 29 weeks pregnant with Womb Raider # 2 and things are progressing with alarming speed.

A few weeks ago The Husband, Home Invader (artist formerly known as the Womb Raider #1) and I went to meet up with some friends for a lunch of gourmet burgers at a nearby restaurant. It was a casual affair and one that we had both been looking forward to. I hopped out of the car to get the Home Invader out and I felt a weird punch “down there” followed by a cool breeze. At first I wasn’t sure exactly what I had felt, so I fumbled around in the car and made it to the table without really giving it too much attention. Lunch provided a welcome distraction, but I couldn’t help thinking about the strange sensation I had felt in my nether regions. Was it some kind of autumnal gust of wind making it through my thick denim jeans? Unlikely. Vaginal flatulence AKA a Vart? Potentially, but doubtful. Some kind of hideous prolapse? Hopefully not. Was it the Womb Raider trying to escape? Hmmmmm. Whatever the case, I was left disturbed and whispered the details briefly to The Husband just to get it off my chest. His response was comical to say the very least and I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.

Over the next few weeks it started happening more frequently, and not always accompanied by the breeze. It became clear that it was in fact the Womb Raider and their desperate, attention seeking ways. When I was pregnant the first time I don’t recall getting these unwelcome punches in the vagina, they were mainly in the ribs and abdomen and were a welcome reminder of the tiny life growing inside of me. This is different, not at all pleasant and in a weird way feels like some kind of internal violation of sorts. A friend asked me if it was like “backwards sex”. No, not really! Sometimes it’s a swift “one, two” punch, other times a deeper blow making it feel like something might burst at any minute. Not a sensation any pregnant woman wishes to have! I’m convinced I have a ninja baby that is happy practicing its moves at all hours of the night and day, leaving me to weather the storm.
Sometimes I start to worry that I might go to the toilet to pee for the 40,000th time and see a tiny little hand sticking out and waving at me. It really does feel like the little creature is trying to escape early!

I’ve done some google searching and it didn’t really help. In fact it made things more confusing, but I did learn something about the eradication of armadillos. So there’s that.

There isn’t much to do now I guess apart from wait until the little bugger starts running out of womb….

 

photo 1photo 2photo 3

 

Categories: Pregnancy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Death to Hipsters.

Personal grooming takes a back seat once you become a mum. Gross understatement of the century? Perhaps. But true none the less.
There is simply less time to maintain appearances when you have kids to look after, and so the upkeep gets a bit neglected.

I shower at least once a day, sometimes twice depending on what I have been doing throughout the day and also depending on what manner of foulness has been wiped over me. Occasionally I will take a look at my arm pits to see if they need a shave. This week I peeked under there only to find what looked like a small gathering of Bondi Hipsters. WTF? I swear I shaved only a few days ago, and now we have this? They’ve obviously congregated there because it’s not yet discovered by the mainstream population and therefore considered “cool” to these types. Well, the secret is out you little pricks, get the hell out of my pits!

I look further south and discover yet more hairy hipster problems to attend to. The lady garden is out of control, and my legs are heading in the same direction. Hormones suck!

It’s worth mentioning that before I was pregnant with the original Womb Raider I had spent approximately $1000 on laser hair removal to rid myself of any unwanted hair in two important regions. V Jay Jay and arm pits. It was amazing. Over about a year I watched the need for a razor simply disappear altogether, and I proudly enjoyed my racing stripe and bald underarms.

Once I got pregnant however, the hair slowly started growing back. It was terrible, I grew more on my thighs and an ugly, unwanted snail trail. It was faint, but really unpleasant. Bye bye laser smoothness, hello hairy hipsterville. Is this actually hipster cool to have hair “there”? I don’t care, I want it gone!

Now I’m back to my hair growing a metre a minute (as seems to happen in pregnancy for me) and I am unable to zap it away until the Womb Raider is out. I’m only 14 weeks into this pregnancy, so if my calculations are correct I could have 26 metre long hair if I leave it and don’t shave at all between now and the birth.

Dare me?

20140312-191242.jpg
Ned Kelly – The original hipster.

Follow The Adventures of Womb Raider on facebook! https://www.facebook.com/TheAdventuresofWombRaider

Categories: Pregnancy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A slight imbalance.

So, apparently, I am a nasty bitch. Well, according to The Husband anyway, most other people who know me think I’m wonderful.
You see, these past 12 weeks of being pregnant with the new Womb Raider have been a little bit challenging, and The Husband has unfortunately borne the brunt of it.

Pregnancy can make even the calmest woman go completely insane (although truthfully I am a little closer to the insane side than most people to start with), and its a true test of a marriage if you can stay together through the crazy mood swings that will take over.
It’s worse than PMS. Much worse. I am not going to deny that right now I am like a Jekyll and Hyde wife from hell, and its showing no signs of letting up.
For instance, The Husband can ask a simple question and I may misinterpret his request ever so slightly. BOOM. I’ve gone mental and it’s hard to stop myself from grabbing him by the throat and ripping out his eyeballs. I feel fury like I’ve never felt before, and its actually difficult to stay centred and rational during every day life.
Everything will piss me off, but mostly everything and anything that The Husband says or does. Unfortunate.

The Husband: “Good morning gorgeous wife.”
Me: “Fuck you.”
The Husband: “Would you like some toast?”
Me: “Are you saying I’m fat? I’m pregnant you bastard!”
The Husband: “What shall we do for dinner?”
Me: “Oh right, so this is where you start critiquing what’s in the fridge and deciding we need takeaway, well I’m not bloody cooking ok? Make your own god damned dinner you tool. I’ll have toast.”

How do you explain to someone you love that you want to kill them? Is this even a reasonable thought to be having in the first place? Or do I have a screw loose? Wait….don’t answer that.

I’m hoping that soon this will pass because I’m kind of over being a crazy bitch. It should be fun but it’s not really, and I am sure The Husband could use a break. He’s going to have to conserve his energy as we still have 6 months left of this pregnancy before the fun really begins.

Find The Adventures of Womb Raider on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/TheAdventuresofWombRaider

Categories: Pregnancy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Womb Raider 2: Return to the Temple of Womb.

I’m pregnant again. Holy shit!
This means another Womb Raider is on it’s way with a due date perilously close to the original Womb Raiders 2nd birthday. In fact, it’s due 2 days before!
Some might say this is very clever timing, pretty much bang on two years is quite a lucky coincidence wouldn’t you say? Others may argue that The Husband and I are completely insane timing this new Raider with the onset of the “Terrible Twos”.
Which brings me to thinking about timing. Can you ever pick the right time to have a baby? Honesty, if you think about it logically you’d probably never have any at all (and there is nothing wrong with that!). It’s a massive undertaking, and now I know it’s for the brave or insane.

Right now I have little brain power to worry about much at all. The early weeks of pregnancy for me are a haze of narcolepsy, extreme hunger and volatile mood swings which have left The Husband quite damaged. Let’s say I don’t breeze through pregnancy with grace and dignity…..

We’ve reached that 12 week milestone today which is always met with a sigh of relief.  We saw little legs kicking around and hands waving, it’s all pretty amazing what you can see at only 12 weeks gestation.

But I am still in shock.

The first time was different, I was oblivious to the reality of parenting and blissfully unaware of the changes motherhood would make to my life. For example privacy. A thing of the past! No more can I go to the toilet or even brush my hair without a little face peeking round the corner, sometimes even the dogs make an appearance. Hot meals and drinks are also a thing of the past, although to be fair that is getting a little bit better. But not for long…

Also different this time around has been the reactions of friends to the news. We’ve told a few people already, but only because the news broke right on NYE and it would have looked mighty obvious to my friends that I didn’t have a bucket of wine in my hand. Festive pregnancy is really not as fun as it sounds!

The first time around everyone was hideously excited, the second time? Not so much! It’s quite amusing to watch the diluted reactions.

It’s not unlike a friend announcing a holiday.

“I’m going to Fiji!”

Me: “AMAZING!! You really deserve it! You never have a holiday, fabulous news – enjoy yourself! I’m thrilled for you! Can I mind the dogs? Want to borrow my luggage? Oh my god I’ve got so much to tell you about Fiji, you are going to just LOVE it. Let’s go bikini shopping! YAY!”

Then two years later… “I’m going to Fiji again!”

Me: “Oh really? That’s great. Want some tea?”

Of course this new Womb Raider is very much wanted and already loved, but I am petrified of how I am going to cope with two. Maybe I need a trip to Fiji to let it all sink in a bit and make a game plan?

The original Womb Raider checking out her competition.

The original Womb Raider checking out her competition.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Let’s talk about Poo Number 2.

Now that I have gotten my head around this blogging thing I’ve been fascinated with what has struck a chord with my readers. It seems the most popular topics are poo, my dubious parenting skills and the horror of birth. I guess it’s like a car crash, you just can’t help but take a look. Perhaps you are making yourself feel better about your position as a parent by reading about my unfortunate run-ins with excrement, household accidents, vomit and less than friendly hospital staff.

Whatever the case, I’d like to present to you another post dedicated to poo in all it’s brown and smelly glory. Times have changed since the last one. No longer am I dealing with mustard coloured rivers of shit and tidal waves of turd, I have fully delved into the world of proper solid-meal poo which brings it’s own set of hurdles.
For instance this mornings treat. The Womb Raider usually wakes between 7.30-8am (don’t hate me) with a chorus of chats which is undeniably cute. The Husband and I let her sing, coo and babble for a bit and then go in there to start the day. This particular day started a little differently in the aroma department. I knew something wasn’t right as soon as I opened the nursery door as I was hit with a stench so foul it made my nose hairs curl.
I picked her up and the situation turned desperate. My hand had unfortunately made contact with a wet and brown stain on the outside of her sleeping bag and I knew then that things were going downhill fast.
Once the sleeping bag was unzipped I was faced with a natural disaster. Poo had come out of both sides of the nappy, up the back of the nappy and had soaked through two layers of clothing and the sleeping bag. And this is all before I have even opened it up.
I guess I could liken this one to the famous Poonami, but now solids are involved its a whole new ball game. When you are talking chunks it’s a lot harder to clean, and it’s also more gag-worthy with
the smell factor too.

I’m going to make a new list now for the parents of toddlers, as these shits deserve their own category.

The Same Same but Different Poo

This one happens when your kid is addicted to Edamame. You know, those little green soybeans that are boiled up with salt at Japanese restaurants. Kids love em. A word of advice is they don’t chew them before swallowing…they come out exactly as they went in. Same goes for sultanas, only these come back out looking like grapes. You have been warned…

The McShit.

A poo good enough to eat. Well, for your child anyway. Happens when you empty the potty and they are not finished! A few McShit nuggets drop to the floor and are gobbled up before you can scream.
“I’m Lovin it?” Not really.

The Back, Sack and Crack.

This could be the most evil of all the toddler poos because it takes no prisoners. It’s a poo that snakes it’s way up your babies back, covers the sack (if you have a boy) and weaves it’s way into the crack, both front and back if you have a girl. It’s a sensational mess that will take at least half a box of baby wipes and is not recommended for those who have a hangover. You’ll most likely have to take a bath after dealing with a Back, Sack & Crack. Oh, and the baby will need one too. Messy.

The Dentist.

This is for the parents of teething babies. You will know when it’s hit as it will come on all-of-a-sudden and resemble greenish, yellow, snotty slime and smell like poison. I’d say it’s breathtaking, but for entirely the wrong reasons. If you have one of those white masks handy or at the very least an old tea towel, I recommend you go into battle prepared. The wee will smell equally disgusting.

The Mixed Grill

If you have started to tackle potty training you get to see the whole offering from your little cherubs rectum all in one go. It won’t be smashed into a nappy, but will be arranged artfully in the base of your childs potty. You will look at it regardless of if you want to or not. It’s just what parents do. And when you see it you may be surprised to see that it is many different colours, textures and shapes. If your baby ate corn 5 meals ago you will see that at one end, and perhaps a sultana snack eaten for afternoon tea at the other end. If your toddler is on the adventurous side you may find parts of toys, old receipts, glitter, or bits of crayons. No two mixed grills are ever the same, this one is quite exotic.

The Shitzicle

Depending on your young ones bowel habits you may find that they have been a bit blocked up, and spend some time evacuating whilst catching up on Hairy Maclary or The Gruffalo. Potty’s being made for small people and tiny little bums are understandably quite compact. If you add in a couple of days of 3 meals plus snacks, you will probably get a Shitzicle. This is a mountain of poo that ends up forming a little peak and connecting with your little ones bum. You might need a Sherpa to help you tackle a Shitzicle, especially if you need to clean up and let them go for round two. Epic.

This past week has been particularly challenging for The Husband and I as we’ve been dealing with explosive diarrhoea caused potentially by a switch in Toddler Milk. A parenting fail that has had catastrophic consequences. The Womb Raider has been a champion throughout the ordeal, but the scars for me will take a while to heal. As will the mental image of this nappy pictured below.
We use Modern Cloth Nappies which requires a full explanation in a separate post, but to put it simply they are reusable nappies which we wash once they are soiled. For 99% of the time it’s super easy, environmentally friendly and cool, but for the other 1% I question my decision.
You will see why in a moment.

BE WARNED. GROSS IMAGE OF POO BELOW.

Please let me know if you think there is something that needs to be added to the list above. I know this Poo journey is not over yet, but why don’t you help me prepare other parents by categorising your child’s worst dump. C’mon! A problem shared is a problem halved right?

I WARNED YOU……………………………………………………………………………………..

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

THIS IS REALLY BAD

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

OK YOU ASKED FOR IT……………………………………………………………………………………..

 >

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

YOU SICK INDIVIDUAL!!!!!

IMG_0039

Categories: 12-15 months | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The avocado Power Spew.

For the first 6 months of the Womb Raiders life I had bragged about her iron constitution. I’d put it down to her diet of breast milk from the famous overworked cannons and the occasional organic solid meal now that she’d reached weaning age. Never had we so much as a snot or a snort from the young Raider, but many a friend had suffered colds, coughs, bugs and bacteria, some multiple times. But back in March this year we experienced our first lurgy.

She had sounded quite congested, but seemed happy enough so we headed out to Manly Beach in Sydney to meet up with a couple of friends who were visiting from overseas. It was just a little sniffle at this point, so nothing to be concerned about. We all settled down in a funky beach-side cafe to have a light lunch and catch up on old times. One of us had some toasted sourdough and offered a crust to the Raider to chew on whilst we got down to eating. She was merrily munching away on the crust and being doted on by one of my friends, even having a little nibble of some fresh avocado, life was good!

Moments later the Raider was handed back to me as she’d become a little wriggly – and what timing …! Just as soon as I’d sat her back on my lap, a torrent of green puke cascaded down my arm, leg and onto the floor. It was incredibly powerful and coated me thickly as it rushed out and splattered everything within a half-metre radius. Being a first-timer, my response time to this unfortunate mess was somewhat delayed. I sat there staring at the scene wondering what the hell I was meant to do. This was no ordinary vomit. It was a fetid mixture of breast milk, avocado, toast and snot. Lots of snot. I was also alarmed at the amount that came out of her. She was only a tiny little thing, and I was looking down at what appeared to be several litres of lumpy, green, slimy, stretchy, wet and evil stomach contents.

There was no warning either! I couldn’t really lay blame on the Raider here, it’s not like she could have tapped me on the shoulder politely and said “Mum, I’m feeling a little off….might nip to the loo”.
But still. Maybe a tinge of green, a few dry wretches, perhaps even a couple of heaving convulsions would have been nice. Hell, even my dogs put on a dramatic display before they barf on my rug. Sometimes I’ve even had time to catch it!

One of my friends jumped up and took control, declaring “Don’t worry! I know what to do!” and she set about grabbing any cleaning items she could find, including napkins, water and paper towels from the bathroom. Thank goodness she was there as I sat frozen, still in a state of shock, not able to move for fear of the avocado power spew rolling off me and depositing more on the floor of the fancy establishment.
Once I’d gotten over the intial shock, I began silently cursing the Raider for chucking all over my nice new non-maternity jeans which I had squeezed my shrinking new body into for the first time. Then I was rejoicing the fact we were staying in a hotel that night and I had a change of clothes in the car! There was a silver lining to this green and goopy cloud.

Once I’d managed to clean myself up as much as possible I thrust the Raider into the slightly unwilling arms of The Husband and made a dash to the car for my spare change of clothes.
Unsurprisingly my visitors were not that keen to hold her again, and who could blame them?
These babies are unpredictable. One never knows when they may explode (or implode) and deposit all manner of foul contents all over you. All you know is that it’s probably
going to happen when you are wearing something new, or are drastically underprepared.

So if you are smiling as you read this thinking avocado power spews only happen to other mothers (yes I am talking to you Karla) just wait your turn. There are no guarantees in this gig, just lay off the toast and avocado when your baby has a cold. I’m going to chalk this one up to (in)experience.

Categories: 3-6 Months | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Human Napkin

Toddlers are messy.

“No shit.” I hear you say? Well, actually, there is quite a bit of shit. But the mess I am talking about is not strictly about bodily excretions.
Now that the Womb Raider has turned one and is missioning around the house, crawling and cruising the furniture, things have become a lot more messy at our place. She’s single-handedly responsible for destroying the house on a daily basis, and keeping our new cleaners very busy.

A typical morning begins with a bottle of milk, followed by breakfast of either porridge, toast and eggs or yoghurt and fruit. All of which get wiped all over the high chair, me, The Husband, the floor and in every orifice of her tiny little body. We are talking up the nose, in the ears, through the hair and everywhere else she can reach, including the furniture. I’m never sure how much actually goes into her mouth, but having a wild stab I guess 20% at the maximum. The dogs wait eagerly beneath her high chair waiting for bits to fly over the side or get offered from her chubby hands. We do try to discourage this, but its far too entertaining for her and practically impossible to stop. Once finished, they relish the opportunity to lick her high chair clean and the floor below before I come charging with the cleaning spray and a million wipes.

Then comes a nap.

Lunch time rolls around after an entree of more milk and might consist of chicken and veggies, risotto, pasta or a sandwich. Depending on her mood we might get some of that in the mouth, but the majority gets flung around the room, rubbed into the rug, fed to the dogs or launched like a missile at myself and The Husband. All the while the Raider is squealing with delight and grinning crazily. It’s cute. We take pictures and film it, but pretend to be cross to discourage the food flinging. Of course we fail.
Again she manages to fill every orifice with the carefully prepared, perfectly balanced organic food. I start to wonder why I didn’t just give her toast, which I know she will always eat with no complaints and minimal flinging. Or cheese. Can one live on just cheese alone? I’d certainly give it a red hot go if I didn’t care about my weight.

After some play comes another nap.

Dinner time arrives at 5.30pm and we are on the home stretch. That 7 o’clock bus is inching closer and I’m starting to get excited about some time to chill out, perhaps even with a glass of wine as a reward for my motherly stamina.
But there’s one more meal time to get through first!! Dinner lately has been frittata, veggie pancakes, pasta, risotto or chicken and veggies. All as organic as possible and as home made as possible.
It baffles me that the more effort I go to, the more she seems to throw it around the place. Why would she rather suck a pouch of baby food than eat some delicious meal I have made with google love? Or eat bloody toast and cheese?! She used to eat anything you handed her, and now it’s getting worse and worse with every meal. Dinner seems the most challenging, but maybe that’s because I have less patience towards bed time! This is meant to happen to other mothers……

My. Child. Will. Eat. Her. Veggies.
Or not, mostly not.

A bath cleanses the Raider and rids her of all the sticky, stinky bits of the day’s cuisine, but I am not in great shape.

Actress Tina Fey was quoted recently saying she has become a human napkin for her two kids and I couldn’t agree with this description more, as by the end of the day I am resembling the Pro Hart masterpiece from that carpet ad. I’ve got smudges and smears on my jeans and top, dried food in my arm hair, gunk under my nails and bits of shit (may not be actual shit) resting on my eyebrows.
It’s a dirty job being a mum!
But as I kiss her face and tuck her into bed with a lullaby, it’s all forgotten. For a moment she is perfect, a sweet smelling angel. Not a whiff of poo, wee, smooshed up banana or crusty dried up lunch taints the air. Just baby fresh skin, a faint tinge of lavender bath wash and clean sheets. Aaaahhhh.

Until tomorrow. When it all begins again……

photo

Categories: 12-15 months | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Happy Birthday

Today marks one year since the birth of my little Womb Raider. I can hardly believe it as I type this because it’s gone so incredibly fast! Over the past year I’ve written all kinds of stuff about us, but never really delved into how she made it into the world. So here goes…… *WARNING – GRAPHIC IMAGERY AHEAD*

Pre Labour. It was a sunny Monday and The Husband needed to attend an important meeting in town, so I decided to go along even though I was fairly sure today would be the day. I just had an inkling. I waddled my 80kg self around the harbour side of Sydney looking at birds and feeding my face with an ice cream sundae bigger than my head. I was fat, swollen, sweaty and actually quite content. At one point I thought my waters may have broken, so I just refused to move in case I dribbled a trail behind me in full view of Sydney’s corporate crowd. False alarm. Bits of my mucous plug started coming out and scaring the beejebus out of me every time I visited the toilet. I had been warned of this in a Calm Birth course I did with The Husband (in fact it was described as a slug in your pants – not far off really). The Husband finished his meeting and we started heading towards home. During the drive The Husband and I nervously laughed as the radio announced major traffic problems on our route home, but thankfully we managed to be a few moments ahead of the issues and made it through with me experiencing my first contraction about 15 mins from our front door. I went upstairs and finished my invoicing (yes I am crazy) until about 10pm, then get out the TENS machine I’d hired and start zapping my back and giggling as the contractions start becoming more regular. I took a warm bath while things were still entertaining and exciting.

Labour. Things started getting really painful so The Husband and I decided to take the hour-long drive to my mum’s place near the hospital at 4am so we could avoid potentially having to drive through peak hour traffic later down the track. The last thing I wanted is morning commuters to see me grimacing through my contractions! There had been little sleep despite the suggestion by the hospital midwife to just sleep for a while…. yeah right. I was wearing a blue fluffy nighty my mum gave me, 5 year old Ugg Boots and baggy pyjamas. I looked sharp! Each speed hump made me howl in agony and clutch the handle of the door, begging for the journey to end. Once at mum’s I spent several hours moving from the rocking chair to the shower to the kitchen. This was where I stamped my feet whilst yelling and watching mum’s 6 cats dive for cover. The Husband took a nap. Something resembling a cross between a purple jellyfish and a huge lump of snot landed in my pants while he dozed, and suddenly the pain started becoming extremely hard to manage. So we got ready to leave for the hospital and I screamed “This baby had better be cute, or I’ll be f**king pissed off”. Priorities.

We arrived at the hospital after another terrible car ride and as I hobbled towards the front doors of the Maternity complex I leaned on someone’s SUV to have another contraction. My waters broke into my Ugg Boots. A female passer-by wished me luck with a knowing smile. In the lift on the way up I had another contraction and my Ugg Boots overflowed with amniotic fluid. Squelchy. We waved down some nice man with a bucket and mop who came and swiftly cleaned up the lift. This entrance was witnessed by a bunch of pregnant women waiting for their antenatal appointments and the looks on their faces I will never erase. I had a bag packed with an iPod, exercise ball, aromatherapy oils and other creative ways to get through the pain, but none of it got unpacked. I just stripped off and leaned against the wall in the shower, that was about the only thing I could cope with. It had been more than 24 hrs since the first contraction and I was starting to lose patience with this birthing crap. I was becoming acutely aware that this is not how it went down in the videos I watched in the Calm Birth course. I was not smiling, crying, hugging The Husband or looking adoringly down at my massive hooters and embracing Earth-Motherness. I was angry, tired, HUGE and I want this god-damned baby out of me already.

Many more hours passed with me naked in the shower leaning against the wall while each contraction took over. Each time a contraction came, I dumped another 5 litres or so of amniotic fluid on the floor. I told The Husband that I was dying and we decide to try some gas. It made me feel sick so I gave up on that very quickly. At this point I had been in labour for 30 hours and my legs didn’t work anymore. Screw the Calm Birth – it’s epidural time. On cue, a bitch-from-hell midwife and anaesthetist walked in, turned on all the lights and started yelling at me. I curled up with my head in The Husband’s chest, biting his arm and losing my breath with each contraction. For an hour, they tried – and failed- to get the epidural in. Eventually they succeeded and I was given a huge bottle of apple juice to drink as a reward and nice lie down in the dark for some rest. An hour which turned out to be 20 minutes in doctor speak. Then they turned off the drugs and told me to start pushing. I wanted to kill everybody.

The Birth. I was ordered by bitch-from-hell midwife to start pushing. She had the student midwife wheel a mirror to the end of the bed so I could “get inspired” to push. I took a look and all I could concentrate on were the elephants painted on the edges of the mirror. I thought that this was a bit odd. From time to time between pushes I would catch a glimpse of my huge swollen v jay jay. And I would vomit into a bag that The Husband was holding. It tasted of sour apple juice. Which made me vomit again, and again until we had to replace the bag. This happened several times. Short of my head spinning the scene looked not unlike The Exorcist. The floor was covered in amniotic fluid, and the place looked like the set of a bloody B-Grade Horror film. I was not really ‘with it’ at all. Finally, after 2 hours of pushing I could see the baby’s head. I could feel myself ripping but I knew from enough documentaries that once the head was out, my job was done. I gave another push and The Husband caught the Womb Raider. 3.20am… 34 hours later… job done. Holy shit.

After a few checks I was handed the warm, slippery, grey-looking baby. The Husband said “You look like about as excited as if you’d been handed a pile of junk mail.” I felt nothing because I was so exhausted. The important thing was that I hadn’t died and I finally had a baby. No tears, no emotion, just….nothing.

The Husband snapped a few pictures of the hour following the birth that are now so horrifying to look at I still get anxious when I see them. Over the years, I have seen many friends post pictures of themselves on facebook – allegedly of them right after the birth. Most of them look serene and beautiful, with the odd couple looking akin to some Hollywood stars post birth. Amazing. Well there was no way I was going to post the picture of me vomiting juice into the plastic bag. Or the charming one The Husband took of me attempting to breastfeed the baby, legs spread on the edge of the bed splattered in blood. Or the trail of blood leading to the bathroom, or that fucking elephant mirror.

P1010053

Let’s just say I looked like shit and avoided that facebook update, instead posting a picture of my Womb Raider looking cute in her first onesie.

But now, exactly one year later I feel like it’s fair to women out there to see what you really look like after 34 hours of labour. Not good. Vanity aside, here it is. I have 8 chins and 20 extra kilos, but that’s the real deal. And I am one proud mamma to have made it to 1!

Categories: 12-15 months, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Mother of the Year

Mother (or Father) of the Year is a dubious honour awarded to parents when they utterly fuck up the gig of parenting. It’s delivered when you have either done something or allowed something to happen to your child that you really hope nobody else but you saw. It could be potentially life threatening, embarrassing, or just downright stupid.
Some may only have this accolade bestowed upon them once or twice a year. Others, like my fine self and The Husband have the unfortunate prize delivered somewhat more frequently.
But we are still within the first year of being parents, so there has to be some leniency towards our inexperienced situation, right?

The first time I won Mother of the Year (let’s call it MOTY) was when I chopped the top off the Womb Raiders tiny little finger when she was just a few weeks old. You can read all about THAT by clicking HERE
Recently I have been awarded almost every day, since we now have an almost toddling little Raider who is into bloody everything. I think I am still in denial, as she’s been crawling for well over a month and I’m yet to fully baby proof the house. So when I found her up two stairs (she can climb?!) with two screwdrivers in her mouth I was kind of surprised. The screwdrivers were to attach the security gate leading up a perilous flight of stairs. Best get onto that then eh?

Imagine my horror when I left the Womb Raider in her nursery on the floor playing with a turtle-shaped room thermometer for literally no more than 10 seconds and she spat a battery into my hand. Yep. Time to buy a trophy cabinet, and for all the wrong reasons.

On a phone call to an overseas office I heard a loud thud and called out to The Husband “Has she fallen down the stairs again?”. Sweet Jesus. I need to learn to hold my tongue.

Then there was the time when I was helping the Raider use the potty, clapping and smiling and high-fiving when she did her business as required. Then turning around after wiping her tiny little bum to find the dog eating her turd out of the potty. Thank you, thank you….really you are too kind, I’m taking a virtual bow right now.
The dog’s new name is “Shit Lips” and he no longer gets any kisses from me!

Today’s gem was pegging out the washing on the balcony where a few renovations are happening. I think the Raider is playing with pegs, but she’s been quiet for a while and I check to see she’s sucking on a can of WD-40. Shall I stop now? I hope this is making someone out there feel better about themselves. If I can help just ONE other person…..

20130827-204432.jpg

Categories: 9-12 months | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Royal Pain

With the news today announcing the birth of Kate & Prince Williams’ baby boy, I began to wonder how different the birth was to that of my own little Womb Raider.

The main question in my mind is: does money or status really play that much of a part in the birth of a baby once you get down to the nitty gritty of it all? Even if though the newest of the Windsor House was delivered via a Royal V Jay Jay, we ladies are all pretty much the same on the inside. Right? Kate Middleton’s vagina surely isn’t lined with silk or diamonds, and I am sure her uterus looks quite similar to the next person’s. So how did it compare?

Pre Labour. In the days leading up to the birth I imagine the Duchess was holed up at Kensington Palace, causally flicking through the Topshop website looking for a nighty to give birth in. She would of course have been looking thin, beautiful and glowing with good health. Kate might have decided to visit a high-end beautician for a spot of Vajazzling – and perhaps even using some gems handed down from her Royal In-Laws. Once back at Will’s side, I would suppose they took a long bath in a giant, hand-carved tub and then curled up in an enormous beautiful bed to watch Downton Abbey until things progressed.

Labour. Kate started having contractions at around 5am on July 21st – which is co-incidently William’s birthday. The Royal Mucous Plug would have made a sticky appearance inside Kate’s delicate knickers, without so much as a ‘by-your-leave, madam’. I imagine this would have created some awkward discussions with the staff at Kensington Palace, who would then have quickly delivered another pair of undies on a golden tray. Not long after that the Royal Waters must have broken, probably all over a 500 year-old rug, sending a small army of staff running for a bucket and mop. The renowned Lindo wing in St Mary’s Hospital Paddington must have been buzzing with excitement when the call came in that Kate would soon be arriving. In my mind, the room had been festooned with creepy looking paintings of Corgis and Royal Mothers from a bygone era – courtesy of her Grandmother-In-Law, Liz. Other than the creepy paintings, it couldn’t have been dissimilar to the room I was in. Except for the smell. I imagine the Royal Disinfectant having a bouquet like gardenias, not industrial floor cleaner.

At this point, I can only assume Kate & William were ushered into an unassuming white mini van and taken out through a secret underground tunnel toward the hospital. This is, of course, to fool the paparazzi and the press, who have been camped outside the hospital for weeks. The Royal waters would have continued to gush out with every contraction and the Royal entourage would have experienced a great deal of Royal Wetness. Kate’s court shoes must have copped a bit of a showering too and would have been squelching as she was ushered inside the hospital. Despite her reputation for being sporty, Kate’s far too tiny and fragile and perfect and posh and, of course, Royal to cope with the increasingly painful contractions. So, an epidural was surely administered by some extremely well-paid, yet utterly nervous, medical staff. Via a golden needle, no less. Soft music was piped into the suite and Wills gave Kate (now dressed in her Topshop nighty), a nice massage. They would have smiled at each other and chatted about how-on-earth the commoners manage birthing for less than £6000.00  a night.

The Birth. The Royal Obstetrician, Marcus Setchell, would have, ever so politely, asked Kate to start pushing.  She would have elegantly vomited into a bag being held by an anonymous and strangely silent midwife – no doubt sworn to secrecy. I doubt there was much yelling, but quite a lot of huffing and sweating as Kate tried her best to aid the exit of what turned out to be a right Royal whopper of a boy. All efforts would have been made to preserve her modesty, but remember, when push came to shove (sorry, had to go there) the Royal Vag was on full display. Thankfully, Kate  would have been too busy to worry  about her lady bits ending up on TMZ. Or to worry about pooing on the bed. Or her Royal V Jay Jay burning and stretching as the boy got closer to the exit. I’m sure that, as the baby’s head started crowning, William would have made a badly-timed joke about Royal Coronation. And promptly fainted. By this stage, the head would finally have been out, followed shortly by a grey, slimy little body which is expertly caught by the Royal Obstetrician.

As the baby was handed to Kate, I’m guessing a team of beauticians were gathered around, working to return her instantly to her photo-ready state. All the while, another sworn-to-secrecy staffer would have got to work downstairs with some golden needle and thread.

Knowing the Royal couple and their passion for privacy, I doubt we will ever know the full details of the little guys entrance into the world. But I bet it wasn’t too far off what I thought. I’ve still got a few lingering questions for Kate, like what brand of maternity pads she favours, if she is sitting on an arse-donut to ease the swelling, and if she plans on keeping her placenta. But I’ll have to settle for knowing that even if you are rich and Royal, your baby comes out pretty much the same way as the Womb Raider did. And that is quite satisfying.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com. The Adventure Journal Theme.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.