whatiwastryingtosaywas

There's something wrong in the state of Denmark… and I think I may be it.

Month: April, 2013

Definite signs that you’re a mum (y’know, in case the poop factory in a blanket isn’t enough of a reminder)…

So, you’ve had the baby… well done… but how do you know when you’ve turned *that* corner into true motherhood? If you were to ask me, nodding in agreement with more than three of the points below would cement it.

You know you’re a mum when:

  • You say things like “that’s not mine” or “is that ours?” whenever you hear a baby crying.
  • You’ve been peed on, pooped on, vomitted on and you still love this little thing more than anyone on earth
  • Your boobs are never going to recover and it’s always going to be worth it
  • If you are breastfeeding, seventeen different people have seen your boobs out and you don’t care
  • You’ve never had such well developed upper arm muscles
  • You have at times, during particularly long crying sessions, considered gently patting his mouth to make awesome indian warrior noises
  • You’ve developed a love hate relationship with the Tellytubbies
  • You can’t remember the last time you ate hot food or managed to gag it down in one sitting
  • You’ve become a master at making up and singing new songs on the fly and at any given point of any given day
  • You’ve said “hello” often enough to make it into the Guinness Book of Records
  • Your Facebook used to showcase a debauched life full of people but now serves as a shrine of photos of your kid
  • His fingernails are so long they’re leaving marks on his skin and yet you’re still too terrified to take anything sharp to them because the one time you did you almost took his finger off
  • You haven’t carried a handbag in three months as everything you need these days (i.e. your purse) fits neatly into the nappy bag
  • You’re actually annoyed that you’ve lost weight cos each time he head bangs your clavicle he cries his heart out
  • You survive on four hours sleep a day, have never looked so exhausted, haven’t washed your hair in days and are being called “Tarzan’s Jane” by your significant other, and you couldn’t care less
  • You feel mental about being jealous when he flirts with other boobs women
  • You always thought any babysitter would do but now are prepared to stay home forever rather than put him into the hands of anyone else
  • All it takes is one shy blink of those gargantuan lashes and you melt
  • You’re almost back to work, have nothing that fits and still you only come home from the shops with clothing for him
  • It never matters how often or for how long he needs you as long as he does
  • Nobody, and I do mean nobody, else can manage him as well a you can
  • You’re halfway to where you’re going and have a chilling fear that the baby is not snug in the car seat and you’ve left him at home alone
  • You’ve spent at least four nights of his life getting up every half an hour to make sure he’s still breathing
  • You’re afraid to have sexual intercourse cos you think the sounds might scar him for life
  • You worry that you’re not stimulating, talking to, staring at him enough and that he’s going to become a complete dolt because of it (and you have felt immense guilt after getting caught up in a show only to find him staring at you intently)
  • You have *never* really considered the making awesome Indian warrior noises…
  • You’re dead certain he’s talking and can turn any gurgle into a word
  • There is no other baby as cute or as intelligent or as advanced or as flipping fantastic as your kid
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Life? You and me… we needs to talk…

So we get Hudson home and are happy days. He has a post op cough, which doesn’t seem to be budging but nobody else was worried so why should we be? We’re home and we decide cos everything looks good, we’re going to go ahead and sign for that super expensive home so we can move Hudson out of the moderno flat and into a place that has a garden and is a little more kiddiefied.

Life... you suck

The cough was *not* a post op cough. What it *was* was pneumonia. Yes. Pneumonia. And it didn’t end there. Following a visit to his paed on a Sunday after we’d found his temperature to be 39.0 celsius, Hudson was swiftly booked back into hospital with an unknown infection (bacterial) and pneumonia in his upper left lobe (y’know, of his lungs). According to his paed, he was as close to death as he’d ever be at that moment. Fuck me, if we thought his heart surgery was a trying time, this bout was to be the most insane period of his life to date. And ours.

Y’see, we were prepared for the heart op, we were not prepared for the infection. Hudson was poked and prodded, injected and stuck with needles for blood letting, and force fed medication for 12 days. All through this, he got better and better and this is the part that counts cos he’s home now (in his new home) and doing extremely well by all accounts. Every time he coughs, I worry and we check his temperature a bit more often than is normal for parents, but he’s home and healthy and starting his life.

We still don’t know the cause of the infection but we suspect it was his stay in general ward post heart op. He’s still on anti-biotics for five more days, which are not fun and definitely not his favourite thing in the world, but they’re better than the IV anti’s he was on and it’s better than the injected anti’s they wanted us to give him.

My son is gaining weight and starting to learn everything he would have already learnt had he been born without his heart defect. His hands are starting to reach for his bottles and dummies, his already strong neck is slowly strengthening even further and soon he’ll be rolling around and sitting up.

It all looks very good. And I’m happy, except… We are interviewing nannies in an effort to find the person who will take over his care when I return to work on May 1st and I am trying desperately to make peace with the fact that I have to leave my son in someone else’s care very soon. I always swore I wouldn’t be one of those mothers but I don’t think you have a choice. There isn’t a connection like this in life except for this. I don’t want to leave him. I want to win the lotto and stay home so I can be sure and see his first steps and hear his first word (which, hopefully, is mama or dada and not gogo – no offence).

There is little doubt, the last few steps in our lives have been arduous and testing ones. We’ve been through a lot, Hudson especially, and are now, because life is done with swatting us around as a cat swats a cricket, wondering what on earth we’re going to do with this blog. I think pictures of his poop might be a way forward cos man alive this kid can crap.

But ain’t he just gorgeous…

My son, my hero