This Post deviates from the usual. For the last few weeks I’ve been convicted of late that you don’t see change in your life unless you actually change the way you’re doing things. Sounds like common sense, but why then do I keep doing the same old things and hoping that one day everything I’ve ever wanted will just start happening?
With my breasts all dried up and on the shelf so entered another phase of baby raising. The formula era.
Breastfeeding hadn’t been easy for our little girl, but drinking from a bottle wasn’t either. Formula tins provide you with a guide of how much to mix up depending on age, you can find the same information online too. For a while there Curly was drinking about a third of this amount per bottle, at times not even that.
Our daughter’s been on and off with her food. Sometimes she’ll go a week of taking two mouthfuls at dinner time and refusing to accept anymore to the following week chowing down anything she can lay her hands on. At first this was easy, refusal meant a closed mouth, shaking head and annoyed cries. But then she learnt how to spit food back out.
During my midwife and doctor visits when I was pregnant I was often asked, “are you planning to breastfeed?” I always answered yes, it did seem strange to me though that it was any of their business. I hadn’t ever thought of doing anything other than breastfeeding and it wasn’t until I was pregnant that a new message started edging it’s way into my worry radar (like a pregnant woman needs any more).
Curly (not her real name) was born in a little West Australian town March 2013, weighing a healthy 4.05kg with a strong heartbeat. Whilst still in the hospital I felt at one point that her breathing was a bit fast, but a midwife quickly dismissed my concerns claiming that this was normal. We took our little girl home after five days. Proudest moment walking down the hospital halls and into the car park holding our tiny little newborn. At home we sat on the couch and stared at her, “Now what?” I asked. We were elated and ready to start parenthood, but it didn’t take long before I started noticing other things seemed amiss.
The excitement felt when I realised that pain was contractions, regular contractions, I’ll never forget. Excitement, fear of what lay in store, it was my time to experience childbirth like the billions of women gone before me. I felt the contractions early in the morning and by 9am they started to happen fairly regularly. But I still wasn’t sure, I timed them on one of my pregnancy apps and remember telling H, “I think these are contractions, they’re every four minutes, that’s regular right? I don’t know.”
Lots of little girls play with dolls, I was no exception. My fascination, or obsession, with playing ‘mums and dad’s or ‘happy suburban family’ extended to my dreams. I would lie in bed at night and design the perfect suburban home, picturing myself preparing school lunches and driving the children around. When I was six and started year one I started to fantasise about marrying a boyfriend. I owned a large collection of marbles, including a couple of the big ones. Instead of playing the normal games most children would with marbles, I turned the bigger marbles into mum and dad whilst the little marbles were their large brood of children. Around the lounge room they would travel as a family. Continue reading