The definition of surprise

is so dependent on the individual and where their life is at.

For me, surprise at the moment is every morning when I finally muster the energy to move down to the back room. For the last few mornings this has been after the morning school muster has ocurred.

While the house is still, the scenery is anything but.

Yesterday it was evident Jasper had used his extra legs* to explore the tip top of the kitchen bench and found the cool-pack filling of linseeds. I had vague recollections of hearing Chef vacuum at around 7am so knew something must have been bad (as the last incident of Jasper throwing foodstuffs on the floor while on Chef’s watch were raisins and I cleaned them up after three days of waiting for Chef to do so) but they were also lining the kitchen sink resembling some horrendous bug invasion.

Then there was the morning he was on my watch as Chef had taken the other boys to Auskick which is on at fucking-too-early every Sunday morning. I could hear him in the boys room, tried to care about the number of choking hazards he was exposed to, heard the sound of a LOT of balls being rolled down the hall and still just struggled to get into a semi-vertical position. The balls were those tiny magnetic balls from Magnetix – a BLOODY STUPID toy invented CLEARLY by people who are BARREN BY CHOICE and want to punish breeders in the most insidious of ways. I find those little silver balls all over the house regardless of whether the boys have played with them in the previous six months.

Today was the bookshelf.

It’s really quite exciting. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

* a green Ikea kids chair, basically an extension of Jasper’s being. As they were for Oscar and Felix.

Anothe* day

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.

My boobs really hurt and other fun stories

Well I just checked out Poppy‘s site and they’re all having fun drinking.
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.


The post to get rid of the one about my bits

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.