Captain Cook Fountain
One of Canberra’s many lovable follies is the Captain Cook Water Jet. I wrote about it (for money) here.
Boy, I look pregnant 🙂
Snickers Sandwich
This is what I call a snickers sandwich – it’s crunchy peanut butter and nutella, combined:
You’re welcome, people of the world.
What are your strangely delicious sandwich combinations?
oops I did it again
I posted a draft again, sorry. here’s a zombie glamour shot to make up for wasting your time, subscribers:
Class the first
I decided not to title this entry “Boobs boobs boobs” but it would have been legitimate. CJ and I attended our first (of four) birthing classes last Wednesday evening, and it was all about breastfeeding. This meant, in short, two and a half hours of boobs.
Australia is actually not very good when it comes to breastfeeding. A lot of hospitals will still give little or no support to a newly-attempting-to-breastfeed mum, and some will even give the baby a bottle in the crucial early days (which can badly screw up their instincts – some babies, having tried a bottle, will never go for the breast).
Breast milk is very much a miracle food – it reduces childhood diseases (cold, fever, ear infections), reduces the chance of childhood obesity and diabetes, and means the mum is less likely to have breast or ovarian cancer later in life. In a single feed from a single breast, the baby gets a range of milk designed to help it get maximum health benefits (unlike any formula, which is – clearly – just one mixture). It’s also free, hygenic (no sterilising), and far more convenient than constantly measuring formula and sterilising bottles. And it helps the mum’s body recover from birth and pregnancy (breastfeeding mums tend to lead discussions like this with its amazing weight-loss benefits).
I am determined to breastfeed Louisette. But, to be honest, it’s not something I’m looking forward to. Just because something is natural doesn’t at all mean it’s not. . . well, gross. Newborn babies, shockingly, don’t actually know what they’re doing (and new mums don’t either), and there are a lot of painful and personal medical things that can happen. Even in a perfect breastfeeding situation, you will have breasts that are sore (more sore than they’ve ever been) getting punched and squeezed many times a day, plus very painful engorgement for at least a day when the milk first comes in. Breastfeeding is the main issue I won’t be receiving visitors for the first week (unless I feel like it at the time, in which case *I* will call *them* – hopefully people won’t call or SMS me, because I’ll be sleeping a lot during the day).
So the birthing centre, after telling us how wonderful breastfeeding is, showed us dozens of closeups of very unhappy breasts in a variety of unpleasant circumstances. I’m a big fan of honesty, so I’m grateful. They also screened lots and lots of footage of babies showing that they are thirsty – bobbing their heads up and down like animals as they sniffed the potential of a feed, turning their head to search for the nipple, and opening their mouths. That was particularly useful. For one thing, it means I don’t need to try to attach Louisette to myself thirty seconds after birth – I can wait until she actually “asks” and then just guide her in the right direction. Â
The birthing centre program includes several home visits after birth which are mainly about breastfeeding properly – to avoid those painful health conditions, which are usually caused by breasfeeding incorrectly (the key seems to be “make sure baby takes a big mouthful, not a small one”). Right now I’m very pessemistic (being sick for over eight months does tend to dampen one’s enthusiasm for “nature”) but I expect it will all actually work out at the time. Since it’s such an important thing, and since I’m not shy about being honest rather than misty-eyed, I will definitely be blogging about the whole experience. But you won’t be seeing any photos or videos from me 🙂 I’m not that brave.
On the way home I asked CJ how he felt about all the boobs he’d just seen, and all the horrific stuff that may soon be happening to mine. He wasn’t freaked out. “And,” he said, “babies are cute – especially when they’re breastfeeding.”
That’s probably the most encouraging thing I’ve ever heard about breastfeeding.
It is now November, which means that I could technically have a non-premature baby NEXT MONTH (just!)
Tonight’s birthing class is about labour. I’m not as concerned about labour as I am about breastfeeding, because ultimately I know that no matter what I do, Louisette is not going to stay inside me indefinitely – whereas it IS possible for my personal strength to run out on the breastfeeding front, and no doctor can choose to medically intervene with that. I’m mildly concerned about the class itself, in case it triggers anxiety – but I’ve prepared myself carefully and I think it will be all right.
Oh, and since it’s entirely on topic, a rhetorical question. Which of these pictures is more offensive to Australian society, and does that seem right to you?
Why does the thought of, someday, accidentally flashing someone horrify me so much more than wearing a completely skanky and bogan low-cut top?
Zombie Walk: The Aftermath
Last Saturday a small but pungent horde of undead wandered Canberra’s streets, parks, and stores.
Feel free to use any of these pictures/video, just link back to this blog.
Communication
Before we married, CJ and I talked about a lot of things – how we’d run our finances, how many children we wanted to have, where we wanted to live, whether we planned to buy a house one day, and so on. We had similar views on most things, but I also observed that we had very different tidiness levels/expectations.
For that reason, we chose to rent a two-bedroom flat. . . so CJ had a place to be messy (and to play on the internet to his ADD heart’s content). That made a huge difference to both our stress levels. I also communicated to him in no uncertain terms that leaving his stuff everywhere makes me crazy – and set aside a drawer in our living room so that when he forgets I can simply put whatever-it-is “away” and he knows where to find it.
CJ listened to what I was saying, and our house is genuinely always tidy – except of course for the study (he picked up a bag there the other day, and it was attached to the wall with spider webs). CJ quite enjoys having a tidy living area, and my anxiety disorder is better than it’s ever been because I feel safe and loved.
I’m more than six months pregnant now, so I’ve just begun talking to friends and family about how they expect to be treated when I’m in labour and when Louisette is first brought into the world. Some people are very easy to predict – they really don’t care. Others would be offended if I didn’t call them at the first sign of real contractions. Still others will probably surprise me.Â
When my sister was in labour, she had a minor complication that caused a six-hour ominous silence in news. Although we knew something was wrong, the hospital refused to tell us what it was. For this reason, my sister will be my liaison to the outside world when I’m in labour, so (a) No-one is panicking, wondering if Louisette and I have died, and (b) I don’t have to worry about other people while I’m. . . busy (did I mention I have an anxiety disorder?)Â
I talked to my mum-in-law yesterday. She is a very respectful person, and quite self-contained, so my guess was that she’d need very few updates, and would be happy to wait several hours after birth before meeting Louisette (the birthing centre recommends at least two hours before any visitors are allowed in – so the baby has heaps of parental skin-to-skin contact without obscure relations/workmates wandering in on a topless and exhausted new mum). I was correct in my guesses, but she did have one request: She’d like CJ to phone her.
To which I said: Duh! Of course she would! And it’s so easy for me to make her happy without breaching my own personal space at all.
One of the great things about both my mum and my mum-in-law is that they know what they want and they are able to communicate it clearly. This is the best gift a parent can give to their grown-up children. It prevents an ocean of misunderstanding and pain.
Incidentally, I do plan to blog about labour while it’s happening (at least in the early stages), and to update pretty soon after birth (that’ll be delegated to my sister to do, possibly even with a photo of Louisette). BUT for at least ONE WEEK after Louisette is born I will refuse to receive visitors or even take phone calls. The Louisette show will be STRICTLY invitation only. People who know me can email to ask permission to come over, and I’ll respond when I feel like it.
This is mostly because I will be tired, sore, hormonal, and often naked. I’m sure you understand 🙂
Kick
My cat Ana came and sat on my lap today, all snuggled up against me as I was reading. Louisette kicked her through my stomach – right in the head.
As usual when Ana feels affectionate, she chose to ignore any hint of movement. Twice.
This marks the first interaction between our “kids” – human and otherwise.
Tomorrow: The first of seven “Narnia Chronicles” reviews.
Next week: Gory pics from this Saturday’s Zombie Walk.
Things my mum did right
Probably the two greatest things my parents did for me were having a stable marriage, and making vegetables part of everyday life. But three moments from childhood (very possibly the last three my mum would think of) stick out in my mind as meaning a great deal to me.
1. One day my mum took me out of school for a dentist’s appointment. After the appointment was done, I realised Mum wasn’t taking me back to school. I asked her where we were going, and she said we’d just hang out for the rest of the day – which we did. As I recall, we also bought a pair of shoes. It was a day of glorious, unexpected freedom.
2. One holiday, my whole family went and stayed with my maternal grandma and grandpa in Coffs Harbour. Coffs Harbour has a beach, which is pretty much the definition of “holiday” in Australia. My brother and sister and I all knew that we were expected to assist in either cooking or hand-washing dishes every day, and we’d long since grown used to the idea (at home we had a dishwasher, but we were used to daily food chores). One day my grandmother told me to dust.
At home I was accustomed to washing bathrooms, doing clothes washing, cooking, dishes, vacuuming, tidying up public areas, gardening, and various other chores – but dusting was unfamiliar (I imagine Mum did it herself rather than risk her bits of precious). Not only was it unfamiliar, but it was a hot day, I was on holiday, and my grandma was acting as if I’d done nothing to contribute to the household and should have already offered to dust for her. We both got narky fast. To my enduring surprise, my Mum stood up for me, pointing out that I was on holiday, that I’d been doing my share of the chores, and that I was taken by surprise by her demand. I felt respected (and did the dusting).
3. Way back in primary school, four deep holes were dug in our backyard. My siblings and I discovered them when we arrived home from school. “I wonder what they’re for,” said Mum. “Something must be coming. Something. . . unusual.”
Soon after that day, the four holes were filled with concrete. “Hmm,” said Mum. “What could it possibly be?” I don’t remember the ensuing discussion very clearly, but I think there may have been suggestions about dinosaurs and/or aliens coming to our backyard.
Some time later, we came home from school, all a-wonder, and – THERE WAS AN ENTIRE PLAYGROUND IN OUR YARD. It had a variety of swings, a slide, monkey bars, and so on. In short, it was brilliant. We spent many hours playing on that playground for years afterwards, but when I look back it’s the fantastic, magic-edged mystery surrounding the arrival of an unknown something that sticks with me. I still love that sense of wonder.
Hopefully my own kids will have a few incidents like those that stick out in their memories and hearts.
I am twenty-eight weeks pregnant today, which means Louisette is now medically a “baby” rather than a “fetus”. From now on, even if she was born tomorrow, she’d probably be fundamentally all right. My muscle pain moved to my back for a while, but now seems to be largely gone. I’ve felt a million times better ever since the second trimester was done. Here’s some pics from the Moulin Rouge party (“Cabaret” was the other costume option) CJ and I attended last Saturday (it looks like I’m sticking ym belly out; I’m not):
Moulin Rouge Party
I could talk about the conversation, the food, and the venue – or I could just show you what you missed:
You’re welcome, gentlemen.
Is that a zombie I see before me?
This Saturday is World Zombie Day, and Monday night is Halloween.
If you’d like to join my Zombie Walk (a small but piquant affair) either meet us at Canberra’s civic chess pit at 4:30 or email me at fellissimo at hotmail dot com for details about when and where to get your high-quality makeup on.
Here are some zombie-related news articles to get you in the mood (and I can guarantee our pics will be far more impressive):
http://au.news.yahoo.com/a/-/latest/10767429/record-gathering-of-zombies-in-queensland/
http://au.news.yahoo.com/thewest/a/-/national/10423303/police-use-zombie-day-to-test-web-page/
Felicity Banks 