Month: July 2007

My boobs really hurt and other fun stories

Well I just checked out Poppy‘s site and they’re all having fun drinking.
Bitches.
I hope Blackbird is being kissed by everyone.

While I can fully appreciate that this time, as in now, right this very day, is particularly heinous as a parent, I know it will pass. BUT! I also can see it for its loveliness. For things like:
– Jasper saying new words (like his brother’s names) every day, and saying them with such excitement. That he calls Felix “WaaWaa” (Oscar’s name for him that we all now call him) is all the more endearing.
– The continued garbled gobbledeegook language – that if you talk back to him in just lights up his face with the joy only possible on a toddler’s face.
– The Thomas obsession? That he requests specific videos just kills me. Particularly the one with Harold the helicopter on the cover which he calls “ha old ha old”. Gorge.
– The carrying his plate to the dinner table and the whole process of getting it on to the table and him on to the chair. Stunning.
– How when looking at photos – a current obsession – and naming everyone in them, he can’t quite get that he is in them and looking at them at the same time. Or how, when he points at me, his voice lowers and softens and liltingly murmurs, “Mama”.
– That today I had lunch with two friends from my original mother’s group (for one of which I am godmother to her third child) and I was dreading it. In that every time we’ve attempted a cafe or similar with Jasper, we might as well have been tying him down with a lifetime supply of chocolate just inches out of reach, but he was an angel. And this is why…
– because the ‘hardness’ of parenting since having Grover has also been a re-dawning of sorts for me. Of how to parent a toddler. And I realised, I am experienced at this now. Yes, it is suckful at times, but I am, I can be, pretty darn good at it.
I suspect it’s almost like riding a bike.
That the first few pedal turns after not riding since you were a kid are wobbly and peppered by sucking in air each time you think you’re going to fall. But then you get up a bit of speed. And the wind gets into your hair. And you start getting a kick out of the pace, the exhileration, the liberation of it.
And while all my bits are pissing me off quite frankly, I got the parenting ride.
Jasper looks at me when it kicks in as if to say “I have to do what?” but he’ll get used to it. Just as I grow accustomed to this skin once more.

Oh and my boobs? They hurt like absolute bastards.

* This post forms an important part of what some call (I think) cognitive therapy. Where you have to write down the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful to help maintain/regain/obtain perspective.

Pop Quiz

Q: How long does it take for a 2.5 week old baby to develop a runny nose when their 21 month old sibling sneezes directly over them?
A: 1 day. 1 lousy day.

The littlest guy is all snuffly.

🙁

I was going to do a whole upbeat post with pics and recipes of what has been on offer around here lately (Anzac biscuits, chocohotpots, lemony roasted chicken, homemade pizzas, fishcakes, steak and roasted veggies and so on) but the baby is asleep and after last night’s debacle with Jasper, I must go and get more than the two or three I got last night.

SO instead you get another one about the shitty parts of my world at the moment.

Suckers.

Just kidding. This one is the one that isn’t about my bits

I know in all the talk about urine and lactaction woes my mutterings about Jasper and his decision to not eat and sleep (I breed nothing if not over-achievers) may have been a bit overshadowed.
But seriously people. I know it’s a phase. I know it’s age appropriate.
But it truly TRULY sucks.
This is why all first time parents should never have the second child until the first is at least two. Because you’d probably never breed again and world population issues would be resolved in one.
Then there are those of us who are fertile and careless.
Sigh.
As I type we’re a good half hour into a scream alert.
He’s mastered climbing out of his cot. That was Tuesday’s achievement.
He can even do it in his sleeping bag, that is literally a bag, as in, not one of those ones that has feet in it.
He’s gone very quiet which either means his playing with the electrical outlet or has fallen asleep on the floor.
Or perhaps even opted for moderate comfort in the ‘big boys’ bed we made up in there today (that had artfully been a dumping zone daybed until now).
Either way I really don’t care because at least the screaming has stopped.
The screaming which gives me this unique headache all on its own. The one deep in your head, behind my left eye.
The thing is, the night waking – in my theory – is intricately linked to the not eating. Seriously. NOT eating. And it’s not like I only have one child so can just feed him lasagne every night. There are older boys and sheesh even ADULTS to consider. And he’s so FREAKIN’ fickle that sure, he ate three serves of lasagne the last time I served it up, but he ate yoghurt yesterday and flatly refused it today, so there’s no way on GOD’S OWN EARTH I’m creating (because you create, not make lasagne) lasagne for him to just go ‘nah, I’ll wake up two or three times during the night tonight and scream the house down instead’.
The screaming has resulted in him having these tiny pinhead size dots under his eyes, which I’m guessing are BURST BLOOD VESSELS. From all the FREAKIN’ CRYING. Jesus, I can turn on a performance but this kid’s ragin’ it out is even giving Felix’s dark years a run for their money.

So here’s where we cut to the chase.
I’ve been here before. And I know how utterly soul destroying it becomes. This battle of the wills (it lasted oh, THREE FUCKING YEARS with Felix).
And I know we just have to ride it out.
I’m psyching myself up for the cold turkey bottle removal (as it is he has 2-3 a day and never before meal times because yeah, I parent a horde so I know the tricks them young ‘uns try in filling up on milk or juice to avoid that whole boring drill of sitting down and damn having to chew something) which will probably make it all worse before it gets better.
At least he’s now saying bot-bot (what we call bottle) – another word on the – I think – extremely short list of words J can say*. Maybe I’ll give him until he’s 2, which was my original plan.
So on reflection, this is just a whinge.

At least it’s not about my bits I guess.

***UPDATE***
And now, in some bizarre stand-off, I’m left sitting here in the backroom, with him probably slumped (by the sounds of it) against his door. Me – too scared to move for fear he wakes/realises the game is up and starts screaming again and him – to tired/scared/incapable of getting the door open and escaping. Or something.
Jesus.

*When I raised it with the early childhood nurse – and when she asked why I was worried and I said because Felix was talking in sentences by 18 months and had three word groupings at 16 she looked at me all worldly like and said, ‘they’re all different’. Clearly when it comes to being able to scream and not sleep, not so dear Lady, not so.

The post to get rid of the one about my bits

Oy.
What a hellfest it’s been over here.
I finally got to the doctors today after spending most of Monday (until Chef had to go to work and I had to take boys to soccer, make dinner, pretend to care etc) in bed and yesterday moping with killer lower abdominal and back pain, burning boobs and a m.i.g.r.a.i.n.e.
Yeah. Like the two itises at the one time didn’t SUCK ENOUGH.
And it’s really shitful trying to treat any of these on drugs that don’t involve codeine. Panadol is for pussies. And not ones with a urethra probably damaged in childbirth. In case you were wondering just where did I find the time to grow a bladder infection.
Anyway, I kinda got spooked when reading a pamphlet on cystitis by one of our State’s health department that said if you are suffering severe lower back and/or abdominal pain, have flu-like aches and pains, the shivers and or a fever then SEE YOUR DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY. Apparently this means whatever’s been having a party in your urethra* is sharing the love y’all! and has invited your kidneys in for cocktails and a boogey. And these symptoms can mean long term damage to your kidneys! Fire! Fire!
Note to self, even though you’re drinking on average two litres of water a day when you’ve just had a baby and lost blood and live with a horde of children that are like walking PETRI dishes of VIRUSES, don’t even bother asking where you found time to foster a bladder infection. Although the extreme chocolate intake and soft drink obsession may have played a major contributing small part.
My laziness crazy brain drug haze talent at breast feeding lying down means the mastitis got a swift kick in the arse on Monday night when I just let the kid hang off it all night. God knows what he did but by close of business yesterday the breast was feeling much better thank you so much for asking.
That said, the antibiotics I’m on for the urethra franklin should clear up any lingering issues for the beasts of burden as well.

AGHHHH. Talking about my bits. Nothing makes me happier.

So really, nothing else is happening. Jasper has become allergic to sleep again and boy OH BOY! aren’t Chef and I just diggin’ the 1.30-3am-ish screamfest he has decided is an ABSOLUTE goer. Or the 45 minute screamfest that must precede any attempt at a daytime nap (NAP! how I smite thee!) or any getting in to the car seat. YUP. That anxiety I had about managing a toddler and a newborn? SO SO SO very justified.

BTW – is anyone else based anywhere else in the world that America majorly pissed at not being able meet up with all your online friends at Blogher? Just losing that chance to run up to Blackbird, squeal in absolute delight, hug and kiss and maybe even lick her, comment on how tiny she is, ask her about some problem I’m having with my blog template, what did she think about the last Harry Potter brick book and how she’d resolve the issues with/in Israel is making me so very very sad.

BTW 2 – does anyone else out there simply not care about the whole Harry Potter phenomenon? Let alone who was freakin’ killed? Sheesh, can you book geeks just go and die somewhere else, some of us have blood in our urine to worry about.

* and yes, I’m having a small competition with myself as to how many times I can mention the word urethra in one post.

itis, itis, itis and the post in which I do talk about the bits that bleed albeit in as delicate a manner as I possibly can. But I also whinge a lot.

So, last night Chef and I were basically up every hour. It went something like this:
12 – 12.30 – Grover feed
1.15 – 2.30 – Jasper having massive screaming tantrum fit for reasons only known to his delicate self
3am – 3.something – Grover feed
4.something – 5ish – Jasper awake again, screaming for those a few blocks away who might have missed the first show
6 – Grover feed, everyone up! Get up! The sun isn’t up but it’s a Saturday so it’s time to play!

Today Chef’s parents came and watched Felix at Auskick and came back to our place with our nephew and we did brunch – pancakes, bacon, eggs, croissants with my passionfruit butter, coffee and tea. It was just lovely and a very nice antedote to the night that had preceded it.

Anyway, Jasper has clearly been possessed by some spawn of Satan as he is in the zone of not eating, not sleeping and screaming like bats fleeing the gates of hell.
Today there was screaming, as in blood curdling pure rage screaming for a good 45 minutes before he climbed out of his cot (for the first time ever) and then promptly fell asleep on the lounge for the next three hours.
This afternoon I got some yoghurt into him and some cruskits (2) with vegemite on them. He refused dinner.
I’m not making the food thing an issue as we’ve been in this land with Felix when he was this age and I know its completely age appropriate and on top of that he’s going through a huge adjustment blah blah blah, it’s just fucked. That’s all.

Then, after I told you all to be grateful I was only talking about my boobs and not my bits, my bits have developed issues. I think its cystitis, something I have not had since.I.started.having.children., so while my memories are sketchy, I know that’s what it is. Which is also fucked. I’m drinking eleventy gagillion galons of water, bought some Cranberry juice and am trying to limit the toilet stops.
If anyone is still reading, not dry-wretching and has some good herbal or otherwise treatment suggestions, please feel free to share.
The bits that bleed otherwise heeled pretty well thanks. The small tear I had healed really quickly and while my arse is still not the same it’s getting there. I’m still bleeding though. Like the trooper I am. Dedicated all the way.
Aren’t you glad you asked (liberally distributing cyberspew bags to all and sundry).

Then, after yesterday having a couple of hours of feeling a bit flu-ey but Grover feeding like a champ, I thought I had the dreaded pervasive threat of mastitis under control. But tonight, from complete left fielf, my right boob has packed it in and the left is not much better. I have no idea what a darning needle looks like, but I have an image on quite a long thin needle. Regardless, it feels like that is what is being driven up through my nipple into the core of my soul. I’m all shivery and achey and generally pissed off. So you know, that’s pretty fucked as well.
I’m doing the frozen peas at the moment with my breastfeeding tea – which I’m hoping will also help with the cystitis – and have the wheat bags ready to heat for application at the next feed.

Scintillating read, aren’t I.

Oh, and I’m really bloated with severe stomach cramps, which it seems have befallen Jasper and Grover too as they have just had a scream fest for about two hours. Noice. Diffrent. Unyusule.

Not that any of you could possibly feel like eating now, in my albeit stilted ode to Nigella, I made her slow roasted chicken w/ lemons and garlic tonight after Badger had suggested it when I made her roasted chicken and sausages. Because I’m tired, cranky and feel like utter shit, I can’t be bothered to type up the recipe or show you the pics of it. So go visit Badger for how to do it and indeed, make your own damn dinner.

EUGH.