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Wee distractions

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 00:00:00 +0000

It can be hard to drag yourself away from a good book, a fascinating documentary or an awesome Lego-building session, can't it?I would've thought, however, that if the inkling for urination had been and gone, the jiggling and dancing around had begun and the bladder was at bursting point, one could cease to be distracted by other things and just go to the loo. Simple really. You need to go, you go! But apparently that ain't so for my little man. Granted, he has recently started at a new day care centre at which he is expected to independently toilet himself in the absence of prompts or hand-holding from staff. And there's lots of new stuff to play with and explore... And so, at almost all pick-ups in the last two weeks he has come home in his 'spares' and on one occasion, shoeless (urine-filled sneakers are apparently uncomfortable and a little embarrassing). We have spoken about recognising the signs of imminent wee and doing something about it (not in 5 or 10 minutes, but NOW!), but it seems, even at home, that going to the toilet is at the bottom of his priorities list. Just yesterday he was jiggling and running in circles, looking uncomfortable, but denied three times that he needed to go to the loo. Thankfully, sense sunk in before he was drenched and a few minutes later he skidded down the corridor, used his little Sesame Street step to open the toilet door and relieved himself with an audible sigh. Stubborn? Lazy? Male? I just don't get it.

Leaking van

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Telling the truth is an important lesson for children to learn. Practising what you preach is a good one for the parents. Taking your toddler for a walk while Daddy engages in adult negotiations is the best lesson yet.We are trying to sell our campervan. We had someone come to look at it. All we had to do was sit nicely on the bed (it poured outside) and play Uno while my husband did the talking. Sounds easy enough, only my 3 year old wanted to communicate with Eric and the first thing he said, with all the animation of an exciting tale of adventure was, “The van was leaking! The van leaking when it was raining all day at the other caravan park and...and...and it was leaking on mum and dad's bed!” I froze, panic written all over my face and because I didn't respond immediately to his honest account, he continued, in search of reinforcement. “It was leaking, wasn't it Mummy? Wasn't it?” My husband pitched in, with a nervous laugh and a mumble, “Yeah, well we should close the window next time.” Our son looked at us, baffled. How on earth did rain get on Mum and Dad's bed through the window? Could rain really turn corners and come in sideways? Hmm...Eric hasn't called back.

Game, set...

Fri, 17 Jul 2009 00:00:00 +0000

I know that he doesn't really have a hearing problem when he, seemingly engrossed in his own activity or thoughts, begins to referee the match. That's probably my cue too, to bite my tongue and calm the tone of my voice (despite the primal urge to win the argument – he is soooo wrong!) Since being in each other's space 24 hours a day, our three year old can sniff an argument developing and, unlike his mother who doesn't mind the odd verbal tussle, he attempts to snuff it out immediately. “Stop it you two!” he snaps, sometimes not even pealing his eyes from Sponge Bob Squarepants. “That's enough!” He means it too. “But...but...” We find ourselves in a major role reversal, trying to plead our case with him, seek approval for our line of argument, but it's all in vain – he will have none of it. I guess at some point,  as the adults and parents with a responsibility to prevent mental scarring and a fear of the non-nuclear family, we realise that we'd better comply. With teeth grit and narrowed eyes, one of us calls it quits. But don't get me wrong,  no one ever concedes defeat. Just you wait till lights out...

Number twos

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 00:00:00 +0000

It's a tough decision, one that we are currently in the midst of trying to make (and trying to avoid making at the same time). Should we have another? I remember in the week following Child number One's arrival (not sure why I have to prescribe a number...he is Only Child at present), when husband was on his generous one week Paternity Leave and baby simply slept and fed, we took a walk around the block. We pushed the stroller proudly, beaming as we went and we (get ready for it) contemplated having another. Fast forward more than three years and we are still a family of three. Why? For starters, I think we're still trying to adjust to parenthood and the changes that that has meant for us as a young couple. Then travelling (well, not just travelling but a year or so of living overseas) hit the agenda and here we are, nearly at the end of our travels and contemplating what life holds when we reach home again. The topic comes up time and time again (during Happy Times) and each time we hit a brick wall in our decision making. Pros and cons. What is a valid reason to go back for another, to introduce another being into the family? Does simply wanting the first child to have a sibling warrant another pregnancy, birth and parenting journey? Does the age gap matter, and if so, are we getting close to the border of too big a gap to justify the sibling argument? How ready and clucky and enthused do you need to be for number 2? Do you have to wait for the same deep maternal urge or is it simply a matter of getting on with the business of expanding the family? Does a tough adjustment period with the first mean more of the same and is this a factor in the equation? If I listen to the demands of my three year old, it looks like we're going back for another one...or two. “I want a baby sister! … and a baby brother. I want both!”

Why oh why?

Fri, 05 Jun 2009 00:00:00 +0000

I was warned that this time would come, but was sure in my newly found wisdom of parenthood that I would have all the answers."Why can't I run down this hill?" "Because there are loose stones and you might slip and hurt yourself." Nice."But why?""Umm because it's hard to balance on loose stones." True."Why?"Oh god. Why is it hard to balance on loose stones? Come on smarty pants, what's the answer? "It just is, okay? It's a fact." Hmmm.I distinctly remember a conversation like this between a mum and young boy in the supermarket. It ended in a similar way and in my pre-motherhood naivity I tut-tutted at her lack of persistence and consideration - an opportunity missed for some good solid education. Now, it's all I can do to hide my heavy sighs, rolling eyes and grinding teeth. I do my darndest to persist with rational, scientific explanations but that only takes me so far. Recently I have taken to reversing the questioning and prompting his own ideas and creativity and admittedly I do a bit of the 'why? why? why?' myself. He doesn't like it.

Swimming in guilt

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000

It has happened. It has happened and I'm having trouble shaking it. The Mother Guilt has entered my subconscious and reared it's poisonous head in my dreams. I was at a water park, having an absolute blast on the waterslides. Pressing my body flat against the pink rubbery mat, eyes cast ahead into the darkness, I pushed off and flew through the watery tunnel, blinking the spray away and landing with a thud in the warm pool at the bottom. And again, racing up the stairs with the mat under one arm, breathless but ecstatic. And then it hit me. Hard. Smack bang in the centre of my gut. Jesus Christ, what have I done with him? I had run frantically through crowds of people who were milling about, licking icecreams and chatting about the summer. I pushed, dodged and ducked and finally found myself in front of a small group of young children. He was third in line, his eyes downcast, his face pale and hollow and his mouth open, waiting to receive...a sausage roll! “No!” I screamed, lunging forward and snatching it from his cold fingers. Shit, I forgot to tell the carers about his allergies. It contained a cocktail of no-no's – wheat, dairy, pork... And that's when I stirred from my restless sleep to hear, “Good morning mummy,” and the sound of small feet making their way around to my side of the bed. Bloody guilt.

Sticky business

Sun, 04 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000

"Embrace the poo," my brother advised. Well, I have. Literally. Toilet training has begun.We'd ummed and ahhed over starting the messy affair, and we finally took the plunge last week. The books talk about signs of readiness, ways to approach it and reward systems. I'm thinking about the cost and inconvenience of nappies, and simply wanting to pass through this stage as quickly as possible.The inconsistency is infuriating.  Just when we think he's got it, we leap backwards - refusal to sit on the potty, opting instead to stand right beside the potty and relieve himself. Why? Why? Why? He doesn't answer.Interspersed within the frustration is the hilarity of it all. Especially the little jig that he now does when he feels a wee or poo coming and doesn't want to a) do it in his 'big boy' undies or b) do it on the potty/toilet (which really doesn't leave many options, does it?). It's all tippy toes, pirouettes and contorted faces. I know I shouldn't laugh, but it is seriously one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I shamefully videoed the latest dance.And so we plow ahead, laden with super absorbent towel, disinfectant and mops (no gloves - no time for such matters of hygiene and infection control). Really looking forward to our week away!

Tower of terror

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Parents often refer to the 'emotional rollercoaster' that is parenting. Let's be honest - it's more like the 'tower of terror'. You're sitting high up in the air, enjoying the view, the sunshine, reflecting on how lucky you are to be up there and then BANG! Your steady, safe seat is plummetting and in 3 seconds you have hit the bottom with an almighty thud that threatens to crumble your bones and ceratinly shatters your mental stability. In a matter of minutes, pride can turn to frustration, admiration to anger and love to despair. Just as I am beginning to think that I could possibly stomach doing all of this again, the switch is flicked and I begin to wonder whether I can actually keep doing this at all. And then back again to cheery voices, bright eyes and hugs, leaving my mind whirling. How can such a small person ignite such powerful, overwhelming emotions? God damn it, I thought I was relatively stable!

Taming the beast

Sat, 10 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Assertiveness has to be a good thing, right? It's something we should encourage in our children, an important trait to nuture. Life skills and all that. "SHUT UP MUMMY!" "DON'T DO THAT MUMMY!" "I WANT A BANA!" Like a wild animal that has been caged, only able to observe, restricted by language development, our son has now been unleashed upon the unsuspecting world. He pounces at opportunities to assert himself, and even constructs opportunities out of thin air. He swipes angrily with his words when his demands aren't met and sinks his teeth into our tender flesh with his staccato sound combinations. At two and two thirds, our son is assertive. It's a good thing, right? Perhaps the next parental challenge is to crack the whip and tame the beast.

Have kid, will travel?

Tue, 13 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000

My last week holidaying in a foreign country with a toilet training, dairy-free, wheat-free, soya-free and carrot-free toddler - a summary: <ul><li>Wet undies, trackies, socks and shoes...whilst eating tapas. </li></ul> <ul><li>Hot chips for dinner...almost every day. Taking the icecream (that had so generously been given to him by a waiter) from his firm grip and then eating it ourselves, later on. </li></ul> <ul><li>Dashing after him as he scoots with great speed and lack of awareness downhill through pedestrians and onto roads. </li><li>Innumerous public toilet stops laden with potty, toilet seat and dried apricots. And despite the many wipes used, I still never felt entirely clean. </li><li>Whinging, whinging, whinging (all three of us) </li><li>Immense fun jumping off a small wall onto the grass...over and over. His best day, amid days of castles and tailess monkeys and caves. </li></ul>  Travelling with a kid.

Walking the tight-rope

Sat, 24 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000

It comes up over and over again. The sting in parenthood. Finding that precarious balance between satisfying self and child."I want to watch the Bee movie mummy.""But I'm sick of that one, we watched it yesterday. Let's watch something else.""No, no NO!"A simple example and one that's not going to change the course of your relationship, you would hope. And to bee honest, I can probably tolerate watching it again for the sake of household peace. It's not worth starting a war over. The more challenging decisions, when it comes to choosing between me and him, are those that I actually have complete control over. Big things, like how much I work. I had always thought that I'd have between nine and twelve months maternity leave (and realise how lucky I am to have that choice); that I'd cherish that time away from an office, immersed in motherhood and all that it entailed. But I wasn't to know that after the excitement of it all had passed, I would feel a deep dissatisfaction and frustration. After 3 months I was yearing for something more; something to break the monotony and stimulate my mind. I ended up holding off, much to my detriment, until he was 6 months old, and then returned to work 1 day a week. I also studied, which was one of the best decisions I've ever made.Leaving him with a carer (family was not an option) when 6 months old was difficult because he was still breastfeeding. I struggled on, trying to express in my little, insecure office and getting only drops at a time - frustrating, because I had LOTS of milk in there -  enough to squirt across nearly the entire length of the bathroom! It all became too much and so at 8 months he was weaned. I was, secretly, relieved to have severed that dependant tie, but also swamped with guilt. I'd put my child in care at just 6 months, weaned him before I had planned to and was really enjoying my time away from him each week.Despite the knawing guilt, I know that I made a decision that had to be made - for my sake. And I'd do it again. Parenting is not an easy balancing act, but knowing that happy mum means happy child (well, that's my mantra anyway!) is like having a good quality safety net below.

Dam busters

Fri, 30 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000

The boredom would do my head in. In fact, it very nearly did today. I now remember why I felt the incredible pull to return to work within 5 months of giving birth.He had an explosive diarrhoea episode at care yesterday and I was told that he couldn't come in today. My first reaction? Thank God he did it before we got home! My second thought? Thank God he got to the toilet in time! My third thought? Excellent - a day off work! And retrospectively? Bloody hell... so this is what 'stay at home' looks like.  Kiddie shows,  kiddie games. Whinging, whining and attention-demanding. Over the course of the day I became increasingly short-tempered and agitated, and it's only now, three hours after saying good night, that I feel relatively sane and calm again. It can't be good for either of us, spending such quality-poor time together. I tried to discuss it with him at one point: 'Look, darling, I need you to see my perspective. I'm bored. Really bored. You're seriously getting under my skin and I'm concerned that I might lash out soon. How do you respond?' His reply? 'I want more to eat Mummy. And no, I don't want to have a nap.'Post nap (thank God for that brief period of respite...like the gates that only just prevent the dam from bursting), I encourage him to do a big boy wee. Surely he needs to. But no, just something to eat, thanks Mummy, and he plonks himself like a zomibe on the couch, watching the brght colours on the screen dance before him. 3 minutes later I am scrubbing the couch with disinfectant and soaking his big boy undies and jeans. Back to work for me.

Allergy this, supplement that

Sun, 08 Feb 2009 00:00:00 +0000

I am officially at the end of my wheat-free, dairy-free, soya-free, carrot-free tether.  It all began with a visit to the naturopath about his blocked up breathing and eczema. A visit, encouraged by my siblings and viewed very sceptically by the GP. It's kind of like a visit to the dentist - you don't want to go because you just don't want to know what has to be done! We were told that he is allergic to the above-mentioned foods, and that he needs 102 supplements to help restore and support his digestive system. Supplements that, of course, could only be purchased through a particular company and cost an arm and, well, at least half a leg.Two months down the track and we have slighltly easier breathing (but still an issue, really) and eczema that is as bad as ever. We have had tears at day care when he has had to watch on as the other kids eat birthday cake and he has a plate of fruit put in front of him (which, like the good eater that he is, he does enjoy through the tears), too many plates of hot chips when dining out (because there is nothing else on the menu he can have) and fish cakes for every second hot meal at home.Despite some scepticism on my part, I guess I was hoping that the naturopath would fix it, if for no other reason than to say to the GP, "So, what was it you were saying about me wasting my time?". But it hasn't worked, and now I'm a bit stuck. Oh no, here comes one of those moments; a test of parental endurance and no doubt decision-making that will involve some guilt.

An escape vehicle

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Are we asking for trouble when we provide our children with the means to escape at a pace that exceeds our comfortable jog?My son is turning three soon and we are contemplating buying him his first bike. He is currently a scooter boy, but we know he would love a bike too (if he can work out that he needs to invest pedal power to propel himself). My concern is that we are giving him another tool with which to escape our calls of 'STOP!' and 'WAIT' and the wrath that ensues.On the weekend we had just that scenario, but on his scooter. He can really get some speed up and is very proficient in whipping around corners and swerving to avoid poles. He can also stop...if he chooses to. A tired and irritable toddler, he decided to ignore my request, then demand and then plea to stop scooting - he was heading towards a laneway that cars use. He pushed on down the hill and out of view. Dilemma: Do I sprint after him to avoid the 'screech...thud' that could follow, or will that just spur him on to scoot even faster? I sprinted, grabbed, scolded and banned the scooter for the rest of the afternoon. Am I asking for trouble if I buy him that bike?

Big hair and brown skin

Sun, 01 Mar 2009 00:00:00 +0000

"That lady has big, red hair, doesn't she?""That man has a very big beard.""There's no seats for the brown man, are there?"Aghhh! It has begun. The wanting to shrink or dissolve or evaporate into nothingness as my toddler makes observations about the people around him. Accurate, they are. Truthful, they are. Innocent, yes. A bit too loud and socially not quite on the mark? Absolutely!My sister asked me if I had told him off; explained that it is not the right thing to do, to make these observations in an audible manner. But, no, I didn't. He is not observing with menace, simply using his quickly developing language skills and desire for conversation to comment on the world around him. "Yes, you're right," I told him. "There are not many seats left on the train."

Toddler truths

Mon, 23 Mar 2009 00:00:00 +0000

They have a knack for the truth and it ain't always pretty. Sometimes, though, it's brilliant!It was my birthday and in honour of going out to lunch with my husband, I had done my makeup, put on some decent clothes and even straightened my hair. I looked somewhat different to my usual comfy routine of trackies, slippers and delinquent hair. Later that afternoon we both went to collect my son from nursery school. Upon spotting my entrance he leapt into my arms (which is a rare occurence these days - he prefers to hide in the corner when he sees us coming and refuses to come home!), and quietly said, "You look beautiful mummy." Then to his main carer, who happens to share my name, "Penny, my mummy is beautiful."Now, let me assure you that I did not train him to say this, nor prompt him for a compliment. It was completely spontaneous. I think my heart did a little tippy toe dance at that point and my eyes welled up. I hugged him close, all recent frustrations vanishing, and whispered in his ear, "Now when I see you tomorrow, tell me that I am the best mummy in the world."

Look at me!

Tue, 07 Apr 2009 00:00:00 +0000

It's amazing how tolerance and patience can be pulled out and proudly displayed when your partner is reaching the point of combustion."Here," I offer in a  soothing voice. "I'll take over." Since when did I step in as the voice of reason and calm? NEVER! Though it seems that I can and I have to say, it feels great to be the one to keep a cool head. Different, but great. I'm afraid to say that stubborness has bombarded our poor son's genes. I guess we ought to pity him rather than punish him - it's all our fault. And so, needless to say, when the 3 year old digs his heels in, we react with instinct and do the same. Problem is, something or someone's got to give. "He started it!" my husband exclaims. "I can't let him win!" I scream internally and yet lately I have found myself saying "Okay, that's enough. Let's just calm down and be friends again."Impressed? I am.

Be gone!

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 00:00:00 +0000

I never thought I could be so joyous about surgery, though having said that, it's not for me. Since being tiny my son has been the 'steam train' in our house - walls shaking, curtains getting sucked in with each inhalation... The poor mite has always struggled to get enough air when he sleeps and he has always sounded like he has a cold (that pinch-your-nostrils-and-talk sound). And so finally we have shocked the specialists enough with his mammoth tonsils and stories of a daytime zombie that they have put him on the list to have his tonsils removed.  I can't wait!Perhaps that's not entirely true, but to be honest, if the removal of those red, bulging cauliflower florets means more stamina and less whinging and irritability, then bring it on! On the flip side is the scary thought that my little boy will be going into hospital for the first time and attacked with a blade while he sleeps. Hmmm.So be gone tonsils! Let us rest well overnight and play hard during the day (but not too hard that I desperately seek a reversal of the operation).

A slap in the face

Thu, 30 Apr 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Literally. My three year old boy slapped me across the face today. Shocked? Astounded? Disgusted? Me too, and they were only the initial feelings. The Super Nanny flashed across my mind wearing that let's-admit-it's-too-tight blue skirt and suit jacket, waving her finger towards me as she stares through me over the top of her I-know-what-I'm-on-about glasses with a mix of pity and shame. Well, don't just look at me, tell me what to do! The precipitant was a request, then a demand that he get down off the stone wall and go to the toilet with his father. And perhaps I had entered his personal space, my face too close to his. And perhaps he was over tired. And perhaps he didn't really need to go. But...but...but... No way, it's not 'asseptable' and I know that. I told him too, pulling out my best I'm-in-control voice and life-lessons lecture about being gentle with people, listening to his parents and missing out on nice things. Sounds impressive, hey? Apparently not – just boring. It washed over him like any lecture would a teenager. My god, what have we created?

Ruling the roost

Thu, 07 May 2009 00:00:00 +0000

“I'm not happy!” “Don't do that!” “I'm not proud of you!” I'd like to say that that is me, ruling the roost. Keeping things in check . Staying in control. Nup! It's my darling angel toddler who thinks of late that delinquent teenager-hood is a good idea at age three. I don't know what is going on here, but I don't like it and I'm not proud of it. In fact, I'm terrified that we have the devil on our hands. I find myself, between fury that frightens me and tears of desperation and helplessness, trying to rationalise and justify his behaviour - he does have horrible itchy eczema; he's got some molars coming through; we've up-rooted him again and he must feel insecure; he's not getting enough oxygen because of his bloody huge tonsils and is therefore suffering from chronic fatigue....and so on. But it worries me. I've prided myself on being a tough but fair mummy up until now - at times perhaps too strict - but I must be faltering. Do we give him too many chances? Instructions that aren't clear enough? I keep getting visuals of him as a teenager, talking to us this way, except that I can't just pick him up and carry him when tries to run away, or threaten him with no dessert or TV. I feel utterly drained. Please tell me it's a phase and that we will, very soon, command and receive the respect that we deserve as parents who try their hardest and care.

Flick that switch!

Wed, 13 May 2009 00:00:00 +0000

I'm afraid I have lost access to that all important switch that enables one to successfully fulifil the roles of parent and partner independently."How many times have I asked you not to do that?""Right, I've had enough! Can you please try and do that more quietly?"  I'm fearful that if I can't find the switch soon, I may be threatening my husband with the naughty step or no dessert! And it is when I'm in the furrowed-brow, teeth-clenched, angry-voice zone that I fail to switch. I just see red and the lense doesn't change colour regardless of who I'm viewing. What's even more frightening is that there appears to be a direct link to my husband's circuit, and it seems that my parenting approach flicks his red lenses too..and then it's all on! But I don't think all is lost...yet. When I start trying to teach my husband the alphabet and talk to my three year old about finances, I will know that the switch has disappeared for good. The multi-faceted role that is parenthood involves fine wires, complex electricals and the possiblity, if you're not careful, of many short-circuits. If I was an electrician I would advise myself to slow down, carefully examine the wires before acting or reacting and stand well back if I bypass  that advice. And I would charge a fortune as well.

Bitten

Sat, 23 May 2009 00:00:00 +0000

No need to gasp, he didn't bite me. Actually, this tale is one of insight into the minds and behaviour of young children.There are times when, no matter what I say or do, my toddler ignores me or chooses to rebel. In fact, thruth be told, my husband does the same (but don't tell him that I dobbed). There is something deep within me that means that when I talk I need to be heard and responded to. If I'm not, a tsunami of frustration fills my mind and body with an energy that has to be released. And so, one day when my charming three year old had switched his good listening ears off, this almost primeaval urge to bite grabbed hold. My teeth clenched and my jaw throbbed. I wasn't being heard. Communication was failing and I didn't know what else to do to get the response that I desired...Perhaps, I thought, when reflecting upon my reaction, this is what littlies experience when they do not yet have the language or speech to communicate their needs and emotions with words. Perhaps when a little person feels ignored or misunderstood a ball of frustration rises from the pit of his or her tummy and into the jaw, and the energy has to be released. The result, of course, is that whomever has failed to heed the message, or whoever is closest, gets bitten. Something to think about.

Toilet talk

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 00:00:00 +0000

"You can do it mum! Yes! Yes! Here it comes!"It's all true. I have my own toilet coach in the form of a three year old boy. And lucky me gets this motivational talk in the privacy of my home as well as in public places...everywhere! It doesn't matter if there's no one else around or if the toilet block is overflowing with full-bladdered ladies, he cheers me on. "Here mum, hold my hand and push.""Well done, you did it! I'm proud of you mum." There is no more embarrassment left in me.When the tables are turned and he is straining, the talk continues, but this time in the form of empty conversation and questioning.  "Mum...there are three toilet rolls, aren't there?" "Mum, why are there three rolls?" "I think, um, that maybe I, um, yeah. Hmmm." Plop. I used to engage in such banter but now I find myself asking him to concentrate on the task at hand and encouraging him to either keep pushing, or tell me he's finished and get off the toilet. I'd rather converse over a cup of tea in the loungeroom.

Sex ed

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 00:00:00 +0000

I didn't realise that sex education started at three years of age. Still, I think I did alright.It all came about in relation to a previous entry (Number twos). I decided to test the waters again with our toddler, see where his views about the subject were currently sitting. The conversation went like this:  Me: “Do you think Mum and Dad should have a baby?” Him: “Yep. How do you make a little sister?” (this is clearly his preference at present and questions about a baby brother result in a look of bewilderment) Me: “Well...Dad has to put his penis into my vagina.” Done. Told as it is. Me again: “How does that sound?” Him: “Yep. Okay.”, as though this was merely confirmation of existing knowledge about reproduction. There were no more questions and there have been none since. I guess it just made sense.

Come play

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Heart breaking, I tell you, seeing him try to befriend other children, join in with them, laugh with them. And then realising that he cannot understand them, they cannot understand him and worse still, they don't want him around.It's fair to say he's been deprived of playmates since we've been on the road. We can be pretty good fun to play with, but Mum and Dad just aren't the same - we don't have the limitless energy, the raw enthusiasm or the ability to 'lose' ourselves at the playground. We're too tall, too wide and too sensible.In France he found a boy of similar age who was happy to be followed around, and while language was somewhat of a barrier, it did not stop them from sharing a joke (about what, I have no idea!), pretending to drive a train and climbing a ladder side by side. He enjoyed this interaction so much that when this boy's grandfather beckoned him, we were left with a slightly confused, deflated and teary little boy. Where was his little friend going and why? I was able to explain that it was time for him to get ready for bed, and this seemed a satisfactory response.Today, however, was different. Whilst at a public playground in Italy he found a few children who were roughly his age to follow around. For a little while they didn't really notice that he was hot on their heels, copying every move and running as fast as he could to keep up. We laughed a little to ourselves, enjoying witnessing his desire to interact and belong. Then one of the little girls became unsure of his involvement and tried telling him so in Italian. He didn't understand and so carried on. Realising that he wasn't getting the message (and probably simply assuming that he was either an annoying or really dense little boy), she raised her voice at him and shoved him in the chest.  He stood there looking at her, not understanding what had just gone on and not knowing how to react. He looked towards us and we all dropped our lower lips and felt our hearts sink. It wasn't a matter of bedtime for her, she just didn't want him around. What a deep, deep instinct and urge it is to protect our kids from harm and emotional upset. And what a massive, unrealistic aim it is to do so completely. I sense a new chapter of parental learning coming on.

Car, trucks and trains

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 00:00:00 +0000

The truth be told, I'm just not that into them. My son can sit for hours in his room surrounded by vehicles beep-beeping, chug-chugging and of course crashing. Some of these land-based forms of transport take flight too. There's a story to be told as the cars of many makes and colours line up against the skirting and the fire engine comes sirening passed at terrifying speed. Trains become de-railed and then they all get scattered across the room as a dinosaur swoops low with a 'rahhhhhh!!!!'. He sees a magic in it that I just don't. I try, at times, to become actively engaged (this is opposed to my 'oh, I see' and 'golly gosh, are they okay?' non-committal responses from the couch as I attempt to wade through an article). I will get down on the rug and weave a truck through a mass of cars, saying such things as 'watch out' and 'oh no, there's going to be a crash' with as much enthusiasm as I can muster (which is, admittedly, very little). But I can't even seem to do that right. My three year old will take the truck from me with a look of disappointment and surrender, advising me that, 'No Mummy, that's not how you do it. Here, give it to me.' I'm not the most gracious recipient of criticism at the best of times, so this is a little hard to take. It does, however, serve a purpose – to reinforce that I am simply no good at playing with cars, trucks and trains. Best not to persist then.

Number twos - revisited

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Well, it seems that one child was simply not enough. Number two is on it's way and we're thrilled! Let me retrace our steps for you (don't worry, I will be careful to avoid any unnecessary details). Something clicked towards the end of our Europe adventure and suddenly it just made sense - we would love to have another child. After being back on Aussie soil for a few weeks it was confirmed and any chance of keeping this piece of news a secret went out the door with our three year old son's enthusiasm. 'Baby? Did you say baby? Yeah, we're having a baby aren't we mum? Aren't we?' Over the weeks he has enquired regularly about the baby and even me - Him: 'How are you both going?' Me: 'Well I think the baby is fine...I feel terrible.". He talks excitedly about taking it for a walk and sharing his bath toys. He whispers through the stretching skin of my now bulging belly: 'Hello baby. Hello! Hello...?'.  He understands that I am going to blow up like a balloon, but that the grand, messy 'popping' of this balloon (as per Play School) is not going to happen until after his birthday. Time is a difficult concept for young minds. And yet despite this knowledge he has frequently forgotten about it's existence as his arms and legs are thrown wildly towards me in a state of tantrum. Let the ride begin!

Bits and boundaries

Sat, 02 Jan 2010 00:00:00 +0000

There are a few different ways to tackle genital talk with your kids. We are of the 'call them by their real names' school of education. There is no 'pee-pee', or 'front bottom' or 'poo hole' - only penis, vagina and anus. But I digress.The baby within has been kicking, punching or head butting (I'm not sure which) for the last couple of weeks and recently it became possible to feel the action from outside touch. As a consequence I have been recruiting my husband's hand frequently, urging him to feel it and, probably unfairly, getting disappointed when he looks at me blanky and shakes his head. This morning I summoned our toddler's soft hand and placed it where I was feeling the movement. Now, I should add that a lot of the movement has been down low... low, low, and so it was that his fingers did have to venture south of the knicker line. Struggling to keep still and concentrate on the task at hand, his little fingers did slide a little further south than intended. He quickly withdrew his hand and stated, 'Oh, no, that's your vagina. Maybe you should do it.' In between attempts to suck in air amidst the laughing, I felt proud. Proud that he had used the real word and demonstrated that he was aware of personal boundaries. That's my boy.

...and then there were four

Sat, 23 Jan 2010 00:00:00 +0000

At an intellectual level, he gets it. "When the baby comes, there will be a mum, a dad, a boy and a baby. That's four." Correct. At an emotional level, I'm not too sure.I'm a pretty useless playmate these days - I can't run or jump, give wizzies or carry him on my back like a monkey. I can't sit on the floor and do puzzles or attempt to construct things with Lego without my pelvis beginning to crumble, and I think it's taking its toll. My little boy has adopted teenage attitude, BIG time, and perhaps it's an expression of frustration and the need to feel in control of something in his life. He speaks agressively, pushes, hits, flat out refuses to do things inspite of the knowledge that there are consequences (that will cause grief when the reality of them sets in). Is it attention seeking? Is the unborn brother or sister already stealing his thunder and diverting precious energy and attention from his little world?Days together can be long and frought with conflict and it's at these times that he cries for his daddy. He's never really done that before and I think I expected to feel rejected and hurt by his demands for a daddy hug and kiss at nine thirty in the morning. Secretly? I'm thinking, 'Mate, if i could swap places with him right now, that'd be really great.' But I'm his mummy and I love him too, even if there if a baby brother or sister waiting in the wings. We're just going to have to work harder at cementing his place in the family unit and convincing him that although mummy is a pathetic playmate, he is still her big boy and she loves him very much.

When mummy knows best

Fri, 12 Feb 2010 00:00:00 +0000

It's not all the time, admittedly, but I like to think that when it comes to knowing how he's feeling, I'm one of the most well-informed on the subject.Working in the health industry, I know that some families are labelled Difficult. Within familes there are Difficult family members who make life Difficult for the health professionals involved in their loved one's care. These are people who ask questions and take up time. They make numerous requests or even demand that things are done in a particular way. Being a parent, I know that there are health professionals who know more than me in a particular field. They have studied, practiced and experienced. Their aim is to  find answers and make sick people better. They keep you waiting, wear stethescopes, use medical jargon and print out information sheets about infant constipation. Recently I fear I became a Difficult Parent. The anxious mum who worries excessively, asks way too many questions and lingers too long at the end of a consultation with an unconvinced look on her face. We were told it was constipation and sent home with instructions to purchase a bottle of poo softener. This tested me. My husband watched on, almost cringing as I questioned the 'diagnosis' and sought more answers. "He looks happy and energetic enough," I was reassured by the health professional. "If it was something serious he wouldn't be this chatty and active."And while I agreed that nothing life-threatening appeared to be going on (and was grateful for this), I knew that my brave and friendly boy was not at ease. He was in pain, pale and no where close to being his usual self. Being the parent and not the expert, I didn't really know what else to say, other than "Okay, well I hope it's just constipation that came about because his diet suffered when he had this 'virus' last week." I didn't know what else to ask or request, and was certainly not in a position to demand anything further. He's still not right and god dammit, I'm going to risk being that Difficult family member who comes back time and time again because, whilst I don't profess to know it all or believe in a true motherly instinct, I know my son, and I won't rest until I am satisfied that he is either back to full health, or on the way to being treated for whatever it is that is dragging him down. Sometimes, just sometimes, mummy knows best.

In sickness and in health

Wed, 10 Mar 2010 00:00:00 +0000

The good news is that he is feeling much better. The less exciting news is that out of the other side of the illness has emerged an explosive ball of energy. Is it wrong to lament the sick days?There is nothing that induces feelings of inadequacy and helplessness more than watching your child feel unwell and being powerless to do anything about it. Pale, writhing, not eating... I cried at the frustration of the situation, wanting him to suddenly declare that he was all better and ask to go to the playground (I'm not sure why, because I'm not the biggest fan of the playground with my limited mobility and dwindling energy reserves...). I just wanted my usual boy back. But now that he's come through the darkness, I'm not so sure... You see, there's feeling better and then there is crazy. Imagine fire crackers going off inside his body and mind in a tyrade of explosions that persisted through the day. His bottom, barely sat on. His legs bruised with the consequences of hurtling himself off the furniture and throwing himself around the floor.  His voice getting louder and louder and louder, rivalling the levels of a severely hearing impaired older man who refuses to wear his aids and repeats, repeats, repeats until he is acknowledged, and even when he is acknowledged. Like a run-away train transporting a ball of energy that threatens to explode at any time. That's him. When I think about it sensibly (which does occur occassionally) he is probably simply exhausting all that energy that wasn't used during the three or so weeks of down time. Makes sense. That gives me about another two weeks of insanity. Of course, there's always the possibility that he is simply an 'active' (seriously, that term is so obviously used to describe crazy kids, in a kinder light) little boy, fullstop. And in that case, I've got to find me my own firecrackers!