The memory of an outfit my mum used to wear – a simple white top with a scoop neck and long sleeves with a sky blue wrap around skirt. She used to wear it with a pair of cork wedges. I thought she was so glamorous.
I hate chorizo and can not understand the current obsession on the Sydney cafe scene to put it in or on everything. Not that I’m getting to partake in any cruising of said scene, which is probably a good thing, what with my low opinion of chorizo and all.
Felix reminded me the other day of the time we went fishing and I caught a sting ray. He was three and a half at the time.
Which made me think of all the things I said and did when Felix was three and a half that I hope he can’t, doesn’t or chooses not to remember.
I have a fear of kneading. It’s almost up there with my self-doubt about being able to produce jams that set without the use of jamsetta. My first attempt at Suse’s sourdough has only served to feed my kneading fear.
Does anyone else remember that TV show Benson?
– Chef getting up each and every morning to the boys even after working dinners five nights a week and doing the whole breakfast/school/weekend sport routines. Every Day.
– Springing something on me at the 11th hour today that indicated that in one area of our lives his head and mine are at very different places.
– Holding the baby so I can eat my (reheated in the microwave) dinner using two hands! and cutlery!
– Swanning in at the tail end of three hours of hell speaking of fabulous movies and how I must see it (let me just add that to my to do list for tomorrow) and getting the good bits of the boys as I just get the cleaning.
– Felix getting Jasper undressed and into the bath.
– Setting up the FUCKING Thomas train track AGAIN.
– My bestest friend in the world reading my previous post and ringing me and then letting me vent, making me laugh and giving me some form of connection with the outside world, while helping remind me that yes sleep deprivation is a form.of.torture. I love you K. So SO much.
Not so helpful but OK
– Felix saying “you talked for almost an HOUR”. (My response: Yes Felix, but K is my best friend and she lives a long way away so when she calls we have to catch up on everything. And then getting out the at last to show him where K lives.
she was teary, tired and over it.
I got us (Me, Chef, Jasper, Grover and two dogs) out of the house and for a walk.
And a park visit for Jasper.
Soccer training was canceled.
Grover is crying. A lot.
Am very tired and feeling quite frayed around the edges.
I have been looking back on some of my posts when Jasper was around four weeks.
I sound so freakin’ happy.
I’m trying to make Suse’s sourdough.
I made the starter a week ago, but I think I’ve bodged making the actual bread.
We shall see.
I could feel me loosening the grip a little today. Note that. Not losing. Loosening. Just a little.
It’s like every day is either a firm hold or just an ever so slight relaxing of the grip.
I suspect this will be my normality for quite a few months to come.
Mum commented tonight that all Grover seems to do is feed. “He feeds an awful lot Kimmy, but he goes longer over night doesn’t he.”
Incorrect assumption, miss a turn, straight to jail.
The Grovemeister feeds every three hours. And overnight it is every two. There’s been two 5 hour stints, but they’ve started at around 7pm so sorry, they haven’t saved me any sleep so they don’t count.
His feeding is very like what Felix’s was, but a bit better (because I’m more cluey to his games I suspect), fast, furious, frequent.
He wakes screaming for it, voraciously gulps it down, then grumbles through the processing stage. By which time he’s screaming for more.
It was Surfing Free who mentioned her love hate relationship with breast feeding her newest and third family member. At the time I didn’t get it. Now I totally do.
I know I will persevere with it. I am, afterall, the type of creature who expressed breastmilk, 20 minutes each breast, every three hours for almost three months when we had Oscar.
That’s right. My children’s blind dumb stubborness is firmly from their mother’s side.
But I’m like – kid, work it out. Both sides, 10-15 minutes each, every four hours. It’s so much more civilised than this crazy 10-20 minutes, one side, every 2.5-3 hours. I know that sounds ridiculous because as I typed it I was telling myself to get over it, but there you have it.
So the tiredness doesn’t really abate because I’m not getting more than about 1.5 hours sleep at a stretch.
This is taxing.
But then there are these very small fleeting moments when I feel myself relaxing.
And I know, the passage of time is in progress.
And any day soon, I will be mourning the passing of these first few weeks with our youngest child as if it was a time of wide-eyed wonder and happiness as opposed to chronic sleep deprivation, sore tits, bleeding bits and an uneasy sense of free-falling to nowhere.
* ah yes, so relaxed I can leave this typo alone.