The creeklands

Walking along the meandering, glistening creek with you snug against my chest, close to my heart, beating gently the afternoon away –

Together, you and I walking

As the water sounds, the graceful fall of the tiniest droplet in the distance.

A silent symphony of evergreen leaves, curled twigs and sweet blossom rustle ever so still beneath us as noisy school children run past, quick like a gust of wind, leaving only footprints in the brown dirt that is our humble track.

And the sun, oh how she gleams radiance making the wattle sparkle golden amber from her touch – perhaps, like happiness captured and bottled.

And a badelynge of ducks waddle across our path, oblivious to our presence they go about their afternoon undisturbed, walking together, too.

All the while a volary of rainbow lorikeets, rosellas and bellbirds bellow over our heads.

We listen to their enchanting birdsong and watch them, as they guide us all the way home, until the last bird flies away, taking the afternoon with him.   

Sydney, next week baby

THIS time next week we'll be heading to the airport to catch a plane to Sydney. It will be baby Lila's first time in the air. I'm hoping it'll be a smooth ride where we're all cloud gazing through the tiny oval windows (and seeing blue skies, hopefully).

But it could be the kind of flight that leaves us with our ears ringing louder than church bells for our eight broken* weeks there (*we come back for a week after three weeks, then head back for two and a half.** My first asterisk. Now I feel like Mark Dapin).

The last time we visited Sydney was for a different kind of trip - with friends to relax, hang out at the beach, go out and drink until we were merry. All the usual stuff young-ish people do pre-baby. This time, B has a work-funded training course and Lila and I are tagging along. Generously, it's all expenses (minus our flights) paid, including accommodation at a four-star hotel in the central city, thanks very much.

Now all we have to do is work out what and how we're going to get everything packed so there's no chance our luggage will tip the plane tail into the ocean. Lila's port-a-cot alone weighs 15.5 kilograms.

If anyone has any tips on first-time flying with an infant, please share them here.

From belly to bassinet: surviving the first weeks with a new baby (or a bumpy ride through early motherhood)

Three point five months ago, I gave birth to my first baby — a beautiful baby girl we called Lilia Rose or just Lila for short.

Thinking about the first clouded days of motherhood and the blur they’ve left behind, I’m reminded of the car ride home from the hospital.

For me, taking our baby girl home was the first mum milestone, a bright marker in the meandering road of my life. It surprised me with the exciting, wonderful and nerve-storm-havoc-causing realisation I was responsible for another human life: I had become a mother.

While my legs still resembled large hot air balloons that could transform the grey Melbourne skyline to a fiery, crimson red, my pregnant belly was gone. I had given birth, finally. I had a daughter and she was beautiful. 

Sitting in the back seat next to baby Lila, who looked tiny in her car seat, while her daddy drove slower than usual, I smiled: we were bringing our baby home for the first time.

But I also found myself biting my nails. I never expected to be so protective of someone I had only met a few days ago. Surely, this wasn’t what I should be feeling?

I closed my eyes as we turned through the intersection to distract from worries about other cars: what if they’re driving too fast and don’t see us? What if their brakes fail or someone runs a red light? What if…?  

Placing my arms around Lila whenever we turned a sharp corner, I sang ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ to her to muffle the traffic noise. She listened while looking directly at me, oblivious, unlike me, to the cars around us.

As I caught her dad’s eye in the rear-view mirror, my mind raced faster than the cars around Albert Park Lake during grand prix season: was our house baby proof, how would we cope in winter, what if she gets a cold, what temperature should the heating be on, how soon could I read Aesop’s fables to her, would she need more grow-suits, do babies wear socks, how much sleep will she need, how often should I feed her, and how many baby wipes does it take to clean a poo-stained bottom properly?

But what struck me like a tonne of soiled nappies is: how was I going to survive the first weeks with a new baby? 

I didn’t have the answer then and I don’t now. What I can offer to first-time mums reading this is a list of things that helped me navigate through those messy, confusing and precious first weeks.

First things first list

• Look after yourself as well as your baby. This means make time every day to do something nice for yourself, such as a bath when your partner comes home from work or when your baby is sleeping.

• You’ve heard this before, but sleep when your baby sleeps. If like me, you find it difficult to sleep during the day, try to sleep longer in the morning after a feed. If you really can’t sleep, at least lie down and relax with a magazine (and forget the dishes).

• Go outside even if the skies are grey and it’s cold. Rug-up and let the crisp air soothe you and your baby. Don’t forget to put the rain cover in the pram and take a brolly with you, too.

• Accept ALL offers of help from family and friends. When people cook meals for you (especially your mum), it doesn’t mean they think you can’t manage dinner, it means they care.

• Take time to get to know your baby. Everything is new to your baby just like mothering is new to you. Whatever you’re feeling, it is normal (if you feel down more than happy, tell someone).

• Breastfeeding can drive you bonkers. It can be a bumpy ride and getting it right (for you) won’t happen overnight. Make an appointment with a lactation consultant for advice. It’s free through your local council.

• When approaching the shopping centre escalators don’t walk up them the wrong way, particularly with a pram but do remember to pay for your parking ticket before getting to the exit barrier.

With baby Lila snug in my arms, I walked from the car into the house. Placing my baby girl in her bassinet, with a gentle kiss I whispered in her perfect little ear: ‘I’m your mummy sweetie. Welcome home.’

If you have a story about your experience of early motherhood or fatherhood, I would love to hear from you.  

The Cute Beach House

Morning, written on Saturday

THIS morning I woke-up feeling good. Hallelujah, a good night’s sleep – perhaps the best I’ve had since before the last slow months of being pregnant. 

I had spent most of yesterday packing for our first family weekend getaway – stopping to sing, dance and entertain my three-month-old baby girl to keep her smiling as she watched from her rocker, patiently. I must have done something right as Lila laughed the day away and by the time we were on the road to Rosebud in the early evening, she was fast asleep.

My bare feet feel light as they tap across the rustic wooden floorboards despite the cold middle of a winter’s morning. But inside, my heart feels warm and full. 

Having woken-up to Lila’s late cry, after her morning feed, with her father beside me, the three of us huddle in bed oblivious to anything but the love and warmth in the room. 

One of the things I love about the Cute Beach House is it’s simplicity in design and understated charm. There are no distractions and it’s oh so quiet – even with our baby girl with us. It’s the perfect place to read, write and enjoy the company of the most important people in my life – my family. 

The other thing I really like is not knowing the time, therefore not being rushed to get up, wash and change, make breakfast, do housework, (insert usual Saturday morning ritual here) and the list goes on. Instead, we laze the morning away playing with Lila, slowly making breakfast, reading all the favourite bits of the Saturday paper. 

And here I am now writing again after a few weeks’ break sitting in the sun room looking out at the verdant green landscape of trees before me, as I soak-up the sunshine glistening through the window. This becomes our marker for time and it’s time for a walk to the beach before winter’s grey blanket covers the sky.  

Afternoon

Back from our beach walk feeling refreshed, having put Lila down to bed as she had fallen asleep in the pram, we put together a decadent platter of cheese, dips and crisp bread crackers to go with a glass of fine red wine (for me) and beer (for B). 

I’m writing this on the couch in front of the fireplace while B sits beside me reading the latest issue of National Geographic magazine, a gift subscription I bought him for our anniversary back in February. That was when I was pregnant with Lila, three months before she came into the world and changed our lives for the better forever. 

It still amazes me each day how much having a baby changes the way you live your life but also your perspective on everything – for me it is and continues to be a discovery of what truly matters in life from the small moments like spending a Saturday morning in bed with your family to thinking about the future and where we’ll settle down and buy a house, one day. Perhaps it will be near the beach or in Europe or on Australian shores.

Evening

     

With the fireplace roaring romantically, I can hear the bathwater running and can smell the pure lavender from the bath salts, too. The sun has set and the evening is here slowing us down; everything feels calm, quiet and relaxed. I don’t have a care in the world right now. This is what weekends should always feel like. 


For those inspired to visit the beautiful Mornington Peninsula, I highly recommend staying at the Cute Beach House in Rosebud. Aside from the great location, it's really affordable and perfect for families. 

Books for my baby girl

IT STILL amazes me how quickly our little baby girl is growing. It seems she changes in some small special way every few days and getting to know her that little bit more becomes more enjoyable each day. 


Lila is a gorgeous baby, so placid and calm most of the time, not including when she's hungry or grumpy in the evening when it's time to don the ear muffs or just settle for repetitive rhythmic ringing in the ears, a mild headache or both. But those moments are quickly forgotten.


Yesterday, with her daddy working from home to take care of his girls (helping me get over a cold and hangover from three months of broken sleep), the three of us braved the cool crisp winter wind, rugged-up in warm clothes and went for a walk to our local library. 


I can't remember the last time I visited a local library, but it really was a hidden treasure. Warm and cosy inside, the friendly librarian took the time to walk over to the bookshelf with us and made recommendations about which books would be best for baby Lila, who turns three months next week, including books with: 

• bright colours and large shapes
• lots of big pictures
• thick cardboard pages
• lots of rhyme and repetition, and
• different textures for her to touch.

We left with 12 picture books of different sizes, three music CDs and three DVDs, including a great French film, The beat my heart skipped, that Lila's dad and I watched last night as she slept soundly, giving us a rare evening without the need for ear muffs. 

I dream that one day

YES, I am a dreamer. I have been ever since I was a little girl. Dreams are there for inspiration, motivation and change. I like to dream and to imagine something will become possible even if it may not seem so in this life, then perhaps it will come true in another. 


But I dream these things will happen in this life because who knows where or who I'll be in the next one. And I dream more today than I did yesterday because the world I dream about is one in which my daughter will grow and learn, alongside your daughters and sons. 


I dream that one day the people of our world will stop being so damn angry, that we will all live in harmony together regardless of our differences, religions or claims on land. That there be no more wars or conflicts and that instead, humankind becomes whole again. 


I dream that one day no child, woman or man has to endure a life in poverty, hunger and without clean water. That there be enough food in every family's house, that it is not thrown away in one while it is desperately longed for in another. That all men and women are able to keep their homes warm in winter and their children clothed, well fed, healthy and happy. 


I dream that one day we live in a world without violence of any kind. That all children can be children throughout their childhoods and not live in fear, ever. That women around the world can feel truly safe in their own homes, when they walk the streets day or night and that they may walk freely. 


I dream that one day we will all be treated as equals regardless of our gender. That women have the same rights as men in every country, not just the one in which we live. That they be given the same opportunities and that we may all live equally. 


I dream that one day all children, women and men will have access to education and that study is open to everyone regardless of whether they have money or not. That we all learn how to read and write, and more mothers and fathers have the time to read to their children, and that their children may one day read to them when they are elderly.  


I dream one day that all communities around the world are equipped with schools and hospitals and all people have access to vital medicine they may need to care for themselves, their families and neighbours who may be ill. That like education, medical treatment is not something that improves with money, but we are all treated equally.  


I dream that one day we all do more to care for our environment so that our children may grow-up in a world with clean air, lush green forests, rich flowing water, full oceans, rivers and lakes. That our children may experience a world where wildlife can co-exist with humankind peacefully.  


I dream that one day we will all wake to a world where love and forgiveness overpowers hate and revenge every time, where war is never the answer when looking for the road to peace, where we give more than we take, where we are all able to live with respect and dignity, where we believe more than we rationalise, where social justice always prevails and where we begin to dream, again.


I dream that one day my daughter lives in a world where these dreams are there when she is awake.  

How to be a good mother ... or not

WHAT makes a woman a good mother? Is a woman a super mum when despite having a young baby always manages to have clean washing and a spotless kitchen and bathroom and still puts on a MasterChef type dinner for her family (today I couldn't even manage to defrost the steaks before B came home, bugger). 


Perhaps she is a woman who takes her young baby to baby-gym classes once a week (something I didn't even know about until I heard another mother talking about it today), as well as other super-dooper baby development accelerator activities: baby sign language anyone? No really, wow. I wish I could be that woman. 


Or even the woman with a baby who is on time at least some of the time. Nope, that's not me either. I haven't even worked out how to breastfeed in public without feeling like I have my clothes on inside-out (thinking people are gawking at my inability or just noticing my discomfort at revealing my breasts in a public place. I've braved or should I write 'bared' it before and have found that people do look at you as though you're some kind of quasi-exhibitionist rather than someone who is trying to feed her hungry baby). 


But even with my clothes on inside-out I would feel like I knew what I was doing more (that is, making a quick dash to the car to get home to change pronto). Also, is it just me or have you ever wondered whether nursing bras were made by men as for some reason I still can't get those clips undone with one hand, damn it.   


But stubborn bra clips, shy bare breasts and baby gym aside, I love my baby girl. I have loved her since I first found out she was growing in my uterus when B was waiting anxiously on the other side of the bathroom door... is she, isn't she? Two pretty pink lines and the rest, well you know, it's a beautiful story, the journey of life.


I'll never be a super mum because between you and me my house was never spotless even before having a baby, but if my baby girl ever asks me one day why I didn't do all those things I should be doing, being a super mum and all that, I will tell her it's only because I was too busy loving her.  

Changes

ONE of the many things I love about becoming a mum is the small changes I'm noticing in myself every day. For instance, I always thought of myself as a morning person and as someone who could only write in the mornings. By the time the afternoon came along, my mind was often too exhausted to conjure up sensible thoughts let alone to bring them to paper or screen. 


But since becoming a mum, this has changed. I no longer wait for a perfect time to write (and let's face it, getting out of bed in the morning is more difficult each day, it's like asking me to not vote for the carbon tax, I'd rather keep my eyes closed).


Instead, I'm grateful if I have a few precious minutes to write whether that be:

• in the morning (instead of jumping in the shower when baby Lilia is sleeping after her morning feed)
• the afternoon (instead of catching-up on sleep, reading, going outside or catching-up with a friend or the rare afternoon of not having to attend a medical/baby-related appointment), or 
• the evening (instead of ... well, let's take this very moment in time: I could be peeling the potatoes for dinner right now instead of writing or rambling rather, but they still taste pretty good boiled and mashed with the skin, no?).    

Surprisingly, it's liberating not to have the time to write. That sounds a little strange, right? 


Gone are the days of toiling over each word and rearranging them like too many candles on a birthday cake in a perfect line (please, just forget it, they just don't fit and remember with age comes wisdom). 


Also gone is the self-critic that seeks perfection and doesn't consider any line, let alone paragraph worthy enough to publish (is this why I worked as an editor for years, but gave up a paid role as a writer after a couple of months, feeling I wasn't skilled enough (even though I was offered an extension on my contract?). Ah... yes, paid and writer in the same line, you read it here first, folks.  


I have changed but not just physically (yes, I'm still amazed at my changing body from kaleidoscopic hormones to dropping a dress size thanks to my shrinking uterus... well almost a size down, I can almost fit into my size 12 jeans, hooray). 


Oh yeah baby, it's the kind of change that feels good: welcome to motherhood. 

Art on a Sunday

TODAY we're off to see the 2011 Archibald Prize portraits at the TarraWarra Museum of Art in Healseville. The sky is grey and cloudy in Melbourne but Sundays with my little family always brighten the day. Of course, there's nothing like a lovely glass of red wino to warm a crisp winter's day and what better place to have it than the Yarra Valley. Cheers to that!

Thirty-three things I want my daughter to know

1. Always be polite and use the words please, thank you and excuse me not only with your grandma but with everyone. Good manners never hurt anyone.


2. Don't be afraid to voice your opinions but do it tactfully. Don't show off and boast about your achievements. They will speak for themselves. 


3. Listen to what other people have to say even if you don't agree with them.  


4. There is never a need to raise your voice when talking to someone even if you are really upset with them. If you feel like yelling, go for a walk outside instead. 


5. Love is the greatest gift in the world. If you find it, hold on to it and don't be afraid of your feelings. True love will bring you great happiness. But don't rush it, it'll come to you when you least expect it. 


6. Always be true to yourself.


7. Never lie, not even those little white lies. Honesty is always the best policy, even if you don't think so at the time.


8. Never let someone talk down to you or treat you badly, always remember you deserve to be treated with respect and dignity.


9. Always treat other people with respect regardless of their background, ethnicity, religion (or whether or not they're religious), beliefs and values. 


10. Forgive and forget. Don't hold grudges - it'll give you wrinkles before your time. 


11. Don't ever be too proud to tell someone you are sorry or that you were wrong.


12. Try really hard not to say things you don't mean. 


13. Travel and open your eyes to the world. Visit places that are different to home. Experience different cultures, customs and foods. Take the road less travelled. 


14. Follow your dreams. If you don't know what they are yet, follow your passions. Do things you like doing. Try new and different things. Don't be afraid to make mistakes.


15. Keep good friends around you. Make time to see them and be there for them if they need your support. 


16. Listen to your mother even when you think you know best. Believe me, she's been there before. Listen to your father, too. Remember, your mum and dad will love you unconditionally until the end of time and beyond. Never be afraid to come to them for help or if you think you've stuffed up somehow.


17. Believe in yourself. Every day. If you don't feel confident, fake it for a moment and it'll come to you.


18. Always be kind to others. If someone is upset, talk to them and show them you care. 


19. Laugh out loud as much as you can. Surround yourself with people who make you feel happy.


20. Life is too short to worry, particularly about things that haven't happened and perhaps they never will, so don't worry about it.


21. Always look on the bright side of life. Things will go wrong, you'll make mistakes, people will let you down, you won't always get what you want, but it's all okay and tomorrow everything will be better, I promise. 


22. Care about the environment. One day you will have children, too. Make the world beautiful for them.


23. Read. Read books from the classics to best-selling fiction. Read as much as you can. Magazines, too. Don't be a snob, ever.


24. Keep a journal or a blog and record the every day, the small things that you may think don't matter so much but its from these things a life is made, you'll appreciate looking back on it one day - something to share with your own children one day.


25. Don't follow the crowd. Don't be afraid to try something different. And don't judge other people. 


26. Learn another language. Swim in the ocean. Learn how to cook. Eat well and drink water every day.


27. Go to university to study. Not only because it will lead to having a better job but because it will steer your mind on the right path to learning. Never stop learning. Be curious and question things all the time.


28. Don't always know everything. Ask questions. Don't be afraid to say you don't understand something. How else will you learn?


29. Always give up your seat on public transport to pregnant women and the elderly or someone who looks like they need to sit down.


30. Listen to your mum and dad. They love you very much and want the best for you even if there may be times you feel they don't understand you. 


31. Don't worry so much about finding the perfect job and don't get stuck in a rut at work. Remember, a job shouldn't define you as a person. It's one part of your life. Family is always more important. Embrace change and change careers often even if it feels scary at the time.  


32. Give back to the community. Volunteer your time. Help those who are less fortunate than you. Never turn down someone who asks you for help.


33. Reflect on your values once in a while and work out what's important to you.

So you think you can blog?

AT LAST on the day Lilia Rose turns two months, I finally wrote a post about bringing our baby girl home for the first time and entered the 'So you think you can blog?' competition on the Kleenex Mums website. 


It feels good to have done something on time for a change (even though I have been meaning to write it since the competition opened in May). 


And so what if I'm still in my pyjamas and pink polka dot night-gown? Fingers crossed my entry post will be published...

Hips to hospital

LATER this afternoon, on her grandma's 62nd birthday, baby Lilia Rose has a hospital appointment: an ultrasound of her hips to check for hip dysplasia.


Shortly after her birth, the doctors told us this type of ultrasound is standard procedure for babies who have been born in a breech position or for babies, like Lilia, who spent considerable time in a breech position during late pregnancy. 


Baby Lilia did a spin on the day of delivery with surgeons advising it was possible she turned while they gave me the second spinal injection, my cheeky little monkey. 


Either that or they didn't want to be sued for not performing an ultrasound of my belly to check her position prior to my c-section. 


'There's no way she would turn now, there just won't be any room,' one of the hospital obstetricians said on the morning of my operation and Lilia's birth. Nice one, doc.


Had they done an ultrasound and in the unlikely chance she had turned that morning, I may have been able to have a natural birth (and put my six-page birth plan to good use). But I'm happy baby Lilia came into this world safely, happily and without any trauma. 


I have tried to stay away from the internet to source more information about hip dysplasia and other than knowing it's more common in girls than boys, and my fleeting worries about the mis-matching creases on her legs, I'm feeling positive she won't need  treatment, which can include wearing a special harness, splints or having an operation.


But one thing I'm learning albeit slowly, particularly since our last time at the hospital when our then five-week-old baby Lilia had gastro, is to try not to worry about things that we don't know exist yet. This reminds me of something my older sister said to me once: 'try not to worry about things you can't control.' Good advice, sis. 

Running late but still running

TWO hours is how late I was for the last parent's group meeting making it for the last half hour of the session. Lucky for me and baby Lilia one of the other mum's daughters, Matilda, took the first half hour of the session burping-up her feed. Thanks for unknowingly being on our side Matilda, you little champion. 

Before having a baby I was much better at being on time. I had friends with babies and they were often late, not that it bothered me but I never thought I would ever be that late (poor time management skills aside). Do all new mums suffer from this? Is there a cure? 

Bugger! I've just glanced up at the clock and it's 12.28pm. The next parent's group starts in a hour and I still have to:

• get out of my pjs (yes, one of the many things I love about being a mum is having an excuse to stay in my polka dot pjs until noon or beyond)
• wake my baby girl and feed her
• get the pram out of the car and put it back together
• find the house keys
• eat something myself or at least a drink of water for now
• pack the nappy bag ...

This leaves no time to finish this post! Does anyone else live this way? Does getting to places on time with a baby in tow get easier to manage? 

  

Facebook fatigue, really?

ARE we tired of Facebook? In an article published on The Times online website, which ABC radio commentator Jon Faine mentioned on his program this morning, it seems the social networking site may have reached its peak with British and US users of the site dropping for the first time. Statistically, this means a 5 per cent decline from 8.9 million unique visitors to the website in December to 8.5 million last month. 

According to a Nielsen Online internet analyst cited in the article: 'Facebook users are finding that managing their virtual life (is) too demanding.' Perhaps there is some truth to this? 

As a Facebook user who has had a love/hate relationship with the site over the years, I have often struggled to reply to messages in busy times (a testing moment was when someone I hadn't seen since high school sent me an email asking what I had been up to in the last 15 years). But I have stopped feeling bad about it and no-one has held it against me, as far as I know. Personally, I don't find it demanding to manage this so-called 'virtual life', probably because I don't view using the site, or the digital world overall, in this way. 

Facebook plays a small part in my life. For example, the site replaces the need for a telephone: a quick message to friends about catching-up on the weekend is much quicker than picking-up the phone and speaking to everyone separately, which is great when you have a baby as it is almost impossible to fit in a long phone chat with a friend. But perhaps other people are simply better at managing their time than me? 

Blogging: type vs write?

BLOGGING. Is it the writing medium for today's audience? Are the thoughtful days of writing the great Australian novel, an investigative feature article or simply putting pen to paper numbered? Are we reading less? If so, are we thinking less? Are we drowning in information overload but not getting much knowledge? Perhaps we're running around too much and consequently suffering from short on time syndrome (I've accepted that since having a baby there's no way I can ever finish reading an article from The Monthly now but take comfort in the knowledge the cover story is not an article -- it's an essay, which takes me back to the 1990s and reading in the dark corners of the library during my university days or the last time I read an essay). Or are we just being lazy? It seems all we need today is to be ironic or witty and readers offer praise. 

From the little I know about what there is to know, good writing takes great planning, which requires ideas, thinking and thorough research -- not to mention the gruelling editing process (whatever happened to the dark red pen and the lost literary art of using proofreading symbols to correct grammar, punctuation and long sentences). It seems the ink has run dry. 

Most bloggers, I suspect, if they're anything like me, don't plan what they're going to write about or do they? I don't mainly due to the time constraints that come along with a new baby not that this was ever mentioned in the antenatal classes (and not that I mind on most days). 

But not planning gives this particular type of writing a different kind of magic, perhaps not for my audience (not that I've even worked out who you are yet or whether you even exist outside my head), but for me, as a writer of ... sorts, blogging offers something unique, not just instant publication or online interaction. 

Blogging has a kind of intangible electricity to it that runs through your fingers as you type -- similar to what I imagine being in the car with writer Jack Kerouac would feel like: driving really fast along a long, empty road without any traffic lights, pedestrian crossings or stop signs, not thinking about what we're passing or even where we're going until we come to the stop at the end. Then without even getting out of the car to explore our surroundings, we throw our half smoked cigarette out the window and keep driving or with one hurried click press 'publish post'.

Catching sleep

LATER today baby Lilia Rose will be meeting her grandma for the first time, which our family is looking forward to very much. I'm hoping our beautiful baby girl will stick to the routine we established yesterday (good luck) and be awake for some of the time. This morning's feed happened at the same time as the feed yesterday morning, which makes feeding times easier to predict and life more balanced. And mothers more sane, presumably. 


For me, along with sleep deprivation, not having an established routine is one of toughest things about having a baby (although it has laid the groundwork for some cracker moments like walking into walls and doors, forgetting the names of everyday objects: "sweetie, what's the name of that ... err, what-do-you-call-it, um ... it has four legs and a plank of wood on top ... you put things on it but not your feet", walking up the escalators the wrong way and so on). I haven't spent (correction: had) much time researching routines but have heard mothers talking about a book called Save Our Sleep. Lovely and enticing title but does it make a false promise?   


Last night, baby Lilia woke at 2am for a feed and then not until 6am. Bliss. Four hours to sleep. Heavenly. But why do I feel so tired? I know, I know. You're supposed to sleep when your baby sleeps, which in my case means I should be sleeping now but when would I get time to write? Or to eat breakfast? Or to brush my teeth? Hang out with friends? Sleeping, feeding and playing is fine for babies but what about their parents? 


I have always taken sleep for granted. Perhaps not when I've had a massive hangover, then sleep is good; sleep is essential. I probably learnt bad sleeping habits from my hard-working mum who does night-shift work and doesn't sleep much during the day either. Last night, we went around to mum's for dinner and she was nodding off at the table before we finished our meals. I've always been the sort of person who stays up late (usually reading, not including my 20s when I would be out somewhere where drinks were expensive, music was blaring and floors were dirty) and wakes up early. Nothing wrong with that, is there? 


Sure enough, it's much harder to maintain not sleeping much with a new baby and with an old body still recovering from childbirth and all that comes with it afterwards. Read in between the lines or read it here: exhaustion. I have stopped counting the hours I have slept (or haven't slept). I mean, four hours is not enough, nor is six it seems. 


I have started to, I won't write 'dream' as I don't sleep long enough to dream these days, think about sleeping for days, uninterrupted. This delicious thought sometimes entails going to a deserted beach and curling up in the warm pristine sand (sure bring me a creamy and cool pinacolada before I close my eyes) or I will happily take my pillow to a quiet room in the house, shut the door, lie on the ground with a blanket and wake up five days later. Even then, I would never catch-up to the sleep. If I did, I would try to hold on to it that little bit longer or put it in a box and open it up just before dosing off at the wrong time, again.


Useful reading (if you're not too tired) 

• Save Our Sleep website 

Human-like cow's milk?

FIRST breast milk ice-cream for sale and now another 'innovation': human breast milk from genetically modified cows has started brewing in China. Time to jump offline.

Boobies are back, formula milk is staying

TODAY is going to be a great day. This morning when my alarm clock sounded, I took her in my arms, gave her a cuddle and placed her on my chest. She took to her breakfast really well, gulping it down happily. 

When it works (read: when it's pain-free and you don't feel like biting through your knuckles or throwing the TV through the window while you're doing it), breastfeeding can be magical for both mum and baby. Of course, it's not going to be enjoyable when you're in pain but for me it doesn't really work when I'm suffering from severe sleep deprivation either. 

That's why combining breastfeeding with bottle-feeding using expressed breast milk or infant formula milk, also known as mixed feeding, has really helped my family. It means we do one night-feed using formula milk, which is also a great way for dad to get involved with feeding his baby, too. Or he could just be worried about the telly.   

Helpful resources

• How can I combine breast and bottle?      
• Bottle-feeding and formula 
• Bottle-feeding - nutrition       
• Do I have to breastfeed?

       

Wash your hands, please

NOTHING can ever prepare you for the ship-sinking feeling you get when your baby falls ill, suddenly. Blink. That's how quickly things can go from healthy to hospitalisation. 

Last week, our beautiful baby girl looked well but was bringing up her feeds. I was struggling to differentiate between her burping large and vomiting. My maternal and child health nurse said vomiting was normal provided this was no more than two projectile vomits per day. Lilia's nappies also revealed watery poos but from speaking to friends this was normal bottom behaviour for a five-week-old baby.

Two days passed and this continued. Our local GP examined Lilia and told us if she does one more forceful vomit, we should take her down to the emergency department to check for pyloric stenosis, a condition found in young babies where food from the stomach can't be emptied and causes forceful vomiting, which requires immediate surgery to be fixed. It was gut-wrenching awful to think this could be a likely possibility.

Things didn't improve. Later that evening, Lilia's vomiting became worse and she couldn't keep down her feeds. Then another large forceful vomit, closely followed by one more. 

At 8pm the three of us arrived at the hospital emergency department. Almost immediately we were taken through to the paediatrics wing of the emergency department where doctors and nurses fussed over our baby girl who was looking paler than usual and not very happy. The staff treated us very well and found us a cramped room known as P10. Twenty-two hours later, we were still there waiting for a bed on the children's ward upstairs.  

While we waited, poor baby Lilia had to have a painful injection in her bladder through her tummy for the nurse to get a clean urine sample. This happened in a treatment room and I will never forget the look of helplessness, confusion and fear on her face. 

'This will cause her pain,' the nurse said. 'Most parents leave the room.'  

Both B and I stayed. We would never leave our baby girl, not even for a blink. She needed us and we needed to be there for her, as we always will be — no matter what. As I stroked her face gently and injected cherry drops in her mouth slowly, as this would ease her pain a little, B reassured her everything would be okay. 

As the needle went in, baby Lilia screamed like she had never done before and it broke my heart. She also had a blood test. Afterwards, I held her in my arms and rocked her, gently and promised her I would never let go. She wept quietly, my sweet beautiful baby girl. 

Later, while we waited, baby Lilia was becoming more dehydrated. We were left with little choice. She had to have a tiny plastic tube inserted through her little button nose down to her stomach. It was heartbreaking to watch and makes me feel sad to think about what she has been through. The paediatrician said the procedure is something she could remember.

At home for the last two days, moments before she wakes baby Lilia tosses and turns forcefully and looks frightened, as though she is having a nightmare. If only I could take that away from her somehow — erase the experience from her young memory.     

But we are lucky that Lilia is well. After being diagnosed with gastro, which in an infant can be very serious, our baby girl is doing much better today. It was and continues to be a huge relief to know her illness wasn't anything that required an operation like we first worried it would. 

After three sleepless nights at the hospital where Lilia was closely monitored in a small isolated room (anyone coming in had to put on a special gown to ensure infection would not spread and we were not allowed onto the ward to prevent the viral infection from spreading). When we could, I slept on a chair that folds into a bed, B used the pillows from this chair while our baby girl slept in her pram. We didn't really sleep but we had each other. 

Night three in isolation, not knowing what would happen next and whether Lilia would get better, I was starting to feel really down and worried. Too tired to sleep or to talk, I couldn’t even remember when Lilia’s last attempted feed was when the doctors quizzed me. But as our baby girl slept and we watched over her, B and I slow-danced and in that brief moment, I knew things would get better, it was only a matter of time.   

Finally at noon the next day, the doctors decided it was okay for us to finally take our baby girl home. They warned us that she could still infect others and could also be easily infected by other people, particularly prior to her immunisations as she doesn’t have immunity. Baby Lilia is not allowed near other babies or children for at least the next 10 days. The paediatrician in charge, who was responsible for Lilia's care, said other than the temporary isolation, there isn't much else we can do to ensure things don't get worse. She told us to make sure we wash our hands thoroughly before picking-up our baby girl or even being near her, particularly after going to the bathroom and when coming in from the cold outside.

Friends and family coming to visit us once the isolation period is over will find to the right of the door on the hallway table a large bottle of sanitiser gel. To keep our beautiful baby girl smiling, healthy and from returning to the hospital: before coming in use this gel to wash your hands, please. 

If, like me, you've been around anyone who has been unwell in the last two weeks or have the sniffles or similar yourself, please come and visit us another time. Two days short of turning six-weeks-old, baby Lilia doesn't have immunity to your sniffles or what they may bring.  

Burping more on formula

THANK YOU to Lilia's wonderful daddy for leaving cornflakes and juice out for me this morning and for kissing me goodbye gently before leaving for work. Lilia is still sleeping as I write this and eat my breakfast, happily. 

We have our second parent's group meeting today. As I'm still not allowed to drive, not until at least six weeks post my c-section, we are going to pram it there and hope the Melbourne weather will work its magic and not rain.

Last night, following two days of breastfeeding every four hours and not sleeping very much, we gave Lilia formula at midnight but she burped up most of it. This didn't happen when we gave it to her a few nights ago and I wonder whether it's because she needs to get used to it. It makes it much easier for us giving her this feed using formula and also gives us more sleep and my sore breasts a needed break. If anyone has any advice about formula, please let me know. 

The other day we took Lilia to meet our 96-year-old neighbour Iris, who is lovely. Iris asked whether I was breastfeeding. I told her I was but had a few problems and have started to use formula, slowly. 

'They do really well on formula,' Iris told me. 'My daughter's babies have done really well, but you'll probably find that people today are a bit judgemental about that sort of thing,' she said.

If you use formula to feed your baby whether exclusively or as a top-up, I would love to hear about your experience. 

Friends, the family you choose

YESTERDAY as I sat in the kitchen wondering how I would ever be able to see friends again when we still haven't settled into a routine, there was a soft knock on the door. To my delight it was my best friend with a beautiful bunch of lilies and a block of hazelnut chocolate, popping in to see how we were doing. It really made my day. Someone wise once said 'friends are the family you choose'. I couldn't have said it better myself. 


Coincidentally, to any friends reading this now, if you're up for babysitting Lilia through the night, you know where to find us.   

Three is our new family

THIS morning I have been sprinkle sprayed by wee and chucked on all before 10am. But it doesn't bother me one bit — all I need to do is look at my baby girl's beautiful tiny face and innocent sea blue eyes and all is forgotten. I could stare at her for hours. She is perfect in every way.

Today Lilia and I are on our own at home for the first time. B has gone back to work after having a month off to spend time with us, which has been wonderful. His workplace has been supportive and understanding of the needs of new parents. We are very lucky as not all workplaces are the same. I miss him already but our little girl is keeping me busy. She's sleeping happily as I write this, which makes me smile. 

Yesterday was Mother's Day in Poland, my birthplace. Lucky me, I get to celebrate the special occasion twice and it feels really special as a first time mum, too. B woke me up with a lovely, delicious breakfast in bed: poached eggs on muffins with salami and good, strong coffee, a thoughtful gift and card, all my favourite things. 

I love our little family. I also feel we've done really well as a team in our first month of raising our baby Lilia Rose. Like all couples, we’ve had one or two disagreements when we both hadn't slept much but we have laughed even more. We’ve learned so much.

To me, parenting, particularly when you're doing it for the first time, is one of those amazing and challenging times in life when you realise how strong you are as an individual and as a couple. 

You also realise the good friends and family you have around you — those who offer to help out in any way they can, who leave useful things on your doorstep, who sew things for our baby girl, who drive three hours to meet her for the first time, who cook soup for you, who stand up for you and the choices you make, who are there and those who you know are only a phone-call away should you need them.  

And to my wonderful mother, you are still the most amazing woman I have ever met and your selflessness, support and love is greatly appreciated — thank you from all of us. Tuesdays are our new favourite week night, not least of all because of your fabulous home-cooked dinners.   

Since Lilia's arrival into the world, as a family, we have laughed, cried, fallen over, picked each other up, supported each other, worked through parenting styles, found our own way of doing things, walked the wrong way up shopping centre escalators, got stuck, bumped into walls and doors, forgot things, bought nappies and other baby essentials, learnt new things, left things behind, ended up in the park with slippers on, bought even more nappies, wipes, creams, held hands on the couch when too tired to talk, believed in each other, attended appointments together, forgot more things (never our baby, phew) ... there's been lots of poo, chuck, burps and bumps along the way but I wouldn't change a thing.         

Murder on my mind, mastitis

THREE nights ago a few strokes before midnight I felt so damn hot that I took my sweaty body to sit outside in the backyard for a few minutes. Only when my fiancée urged me to come back inside did I notice the rain falling. Hot, sweaty, exhausted and covered in rain, was I going crazy? 

Perhaps or was this normal with the onset of mastitis, a nasty inflammation of the breast that can infect the entire body, which coupled with already infected breasts made this a difficult and confusing time.

It’s no coincidence that yesterday I fronted the counter at the local pharmacy and asked for two things: more Daktarin oral cream to treat the painful infection and advice about the best baby formula on the market.

  

‘How old is your baby?’ the pharmacist quizzed.

‘One month,’ I replied. Here we go, I thought. This is the part where you tell me the cream shouldn’t be used on the inside of babies’ mouths if they're under six months.

‘Do you realise you shouldn’t use this cream in your baby’s mouth if your baby is less than six months old,’ she looked at me accusingly.

Too tired to argue, I simply told her both my maternal and child health nurse and GP said it was okay and told me to use it for one week or the infection would not clear.

‘Your midwife, right I see,’ she said, disapprovingly.

‘And my doctor,’ I added, again.

‘Well, if you don’t rub it in properly, your baby can choke and choking can lead to death,’ she said, firmly.

Murder on my mind, mastitis, my chest burning more than the beds on raging fire in Midnight Oil’s song lyrics, I imagined possessing a stare so powerful it could freeze the pharmacist’s tongue momentarily or just before she could say anything stupid again.  

I had already received strict instructions on how to use this cream from my midwife, my doctor, my mum, best friend, her aunty, a cousin of a friend of a friend, the postman, a neighbour, the pine tree in the front garden … I also read the instructions on the inside of the packaging just to make sure that no, my baby would not choke on this cream because I would rub it in properly.

‘How much is the larger cream,’ I asked, instead.

‘And the formula, you’ve decided to get it because of this infection,’ she quipped.

Somebody kill me now, if only for just this moment. Wait for it. Here it comes. How will she phrase it.  

‘Do you realise breastmilk is the best thing for a baby,’ she asked without adding a question mark on the end of the sentence, one I’m sure she uses several times a day on vulnerable customers, popularly first time mums experiencing serious problems with breastfeeding, as if they weren't feeling bad enough already.

‘I’m fully aware of the benefits, thank you,’ I replied. Then I explained my situation and that I would be replacing a feed at night to give my blistering breasts a break from the pain, the excruciating pain of breastfeeding with an infection.

Writing about it now, I’m annoyed for being made to feel I had to explain myself, even if it was from self-pressure, which no doubt comes from societal pressure to breastfeed.

I didn’t have to explain the reason for my choices to the pharmacist, a stranger to me who has never even seen my baby. You know what, I no longer care about what people think or the rights and wrongs of breastfeeding.  

Everyone will add their two cents worth even when not asked for advice. Once you have a baby, somehow even random strangers feel it’s their duly right to give you unsolicited advice. Let them and let it wash over you. Even smile politely. Or mute them in your head or all of the above.

To me, I care and will always care most about what is best for my beautiful baby girl. If at the moment, the best thing is feeding her with the best formula money can buy, as well as breastmilk to help us both get through a tough time, then that’s what I’ll do. My fiancée is very supportive, too.

Last night, we gave baby Lilia expressed breastmilk followed by formula in a separate bottle, to ease her into the taste. She gulped it down, happily. It was wonderful to be able to look in her eyes when feeding her from a bottle and not having any pain or worries about breastfeeding — a genuine bonding moment we both enjoyed very much.

I didn’t feel guilty. I felt happy, relieved and finally, ready for bed. As I glanced over at my daughter as she dosed off to sleep, I was confident in myself that I had made the right choice for me and my beautiful sleeping baby.

We shouldn’t pass judgement on any woman who for whatever reason chooses to feed her baby with formula (and I recently read about a woman choosing to do so simply because she viewed her breasts as sexual objects and the thought of using them as providing food for her baby made her feel ill and unhappy, so she chose formula instead, it’s her choice). Every woman, just like every baby, is different. What works for one mum and baby may not work for another.

When it comes to breastfeeding or how you choose to provide for your baby, remember always that it’s your baby, your body and your breasts and breastfeeding is your own business.       

Bumps with breastfeeding or something more serious?

OUR first parent’s group meeting was great even if I did doze off halfway through. I was told the four week mark is when all the sleep deprivation catches up with you and the excitement of a new baby wears off, which makes it sound like month-long waterproof mascara on its last lashes.

Despite the exhaustion, having met other new first time mums and their beautiful babies felt good and I can see myself becoming friends with them, too. But what I discovered after the session was not expected.

Following a comment I made about a sore, red breast with a hot patch on it that could be sewn onto a Scottish man’s chequered kilt to keep him warm throughout the winter, our maternal and child health nurse recognised a blocked milk duct that could be infected. Linda recommended gentle massage and draining the breast as much as possible, as well as not missing a feed at night, which I had been doing in an attempt to get some sleep and for Lilia’s dad to feel involved with his daughter’s feeding.

A few things that helped my sore, irritated and red breast:

v     Gentle massage while feeding using straight fingers, gently pushing over the breast and towards the nipple

v     Warmth, including standing under a hot shower ad letting the water relieve the pain and soften the breast

v     Cool ice-pack wrapped in a face-wash cloth for no more than 10 minutes after feeding to relieve the hotness and discomfort

v     Support from my loved one who got involved in the last night-time feed, the one I find the most difficult. He sat behind me on the couch as I fed baby Lilia — it was a real family breastfeeding effort.

v     Expressing any milk that remained, gently. Although nothing is as strong as a baby’s suck not even an expensive electric pump.

The next morning, during a visit to see our maternal and child health nurse for Lilia’s four week check-up, we discovered an infection had developed, which had made my breast redder. Linda recommended the cream Daktarin, which I started using yesterday after feeds, including putting a small amount in Lilia’s mouth four times per day, rubbing in very well to avoid it blocking her throat.

The good news was that Lilia was doing well and had gained considerable weight (more than 300 grams in two weeks), now weighing 3.3 kilograms. Must be doing something right. Hooray! Can I sleep now?

Later that afternoon, a visit with my local GP confirmed I had mastitis, an inflammation of the breast, which required a dose of antibiotics if it was going to get the boot. The Better Health Channel has good free resources on dealing with mastitis, as well as other useful information. If only they provided a baby-sitting service to let parents catch-up on sleep.   

Last night was the most challenging time for me since becoming a parent. What can only be described as millions of small but super sharp razor-blades being used against my nipples, breasts and even along my arms, the pain was excruciating both during and in between feeds. When baby Lilia latched on was even more painful. I’m hoping the antibiotics will start to do their magic soon, as too will the cream. Not sure I can last a week but I will keep trying.

Despite feeling guilty, thoughts of using formula have started to feel like they could become reality. I don’t know a lot about formula, only how it’s not as good for a baby as breastmilk. Am I letting my baby down for thinking this way? 

Breast is best but is it more important for a baby to have a happy mother (happy mother = happy baby)?

I recently purchased Kaz Cooke’s book Kidwrangling, second edition, which has an entire chapter dedicated to bottles and bottle-feeding. Perhaps I’ll read that as a starting point. 

If you’ve got some advice or want to share your experience with breastfeeding or using formula or both, why not share your story here?