reflection

Let Me Remember

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We are deep in the trenches.  The days that are flying by in a fog of getting to the next nap or mealtime or bedtime, days that are filled with how. How am I going to fill that time between morning tea and lunch, or afternoon tea and dinner. How am I going to stay awake after yet another night of horribly broken sleep. How am I going to keep my cool when I am massively sleep-deprived and lacking in any time to be creative for myself and I am merely coping, just getting by and hoping I am doing enough and hoping I can remember.

Hoping I can remember, because I know this all passes, passes so so quickly, and before I know it the girls will be taller than me and borrowing my clothes and shoes and makeup and spending more time out of the home than here.

So many things to remember.

Let me remember the softness. The softness of the hair, so soft that I could rest my cheek on it all day. The softness of the skin, the soft skin of tiny hands as they hold and explore and reach and gripple, the soft skin of bigger hands as they slip into mine when we cross a road or descend the stairs, the soft skin of plump cheeks as a head rests on my shoulder.

Let me remember the heaviness. The heaviness of a baby. The solid weight of a little baby. The hefty weight of an older baby. The lanky weight of a leggy preschooler who still wants a cuddle-walk to the bathroom to clean her teeth but is all legs and knees and elbows and ribs.

Let me remember the curves. The curve of round cheeks. The slight curve of eyelashes when the eyes are closed in sleep. The gentle curve of fingers relaxed in sleep.

Let me remember the spontaneity and fun of children. The squeak laugh that starts in the belly and spurts out with delight. The sudden raspberry conversation across the breakfast table. The imminent 3-year-old tantrum waylaid when the baby thinks it is a game of peek-a-boo.

Let me remember them when I too am older and worrying about girls being independent and asserting themselves and setting foot in the big wide world. Let me remember how little and precious and fragile and fiercely independent they are, now.

Let me remember their babyhood and preschool years, the memories that cannot be caught in a photo, the memories that they will not have themselves.

Let me remember.

October.

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[Trigger Warning: pregnancy loss]

October. That month of jacarandas in bloom and the city coloured purple. That month when storm season really kicks off and the warmth and humidity also brings the promise of cracking thunder and lightning and rain and hail. That month of shops full of orange and black and red and green as Halloween and Christmas are jumbled together and pushed upon us. That month when newsfeeds are full of end-of-year events and pumpkins and stories of loss. The school year is coming to an end. The northern hemisphere is sliding into cooler weather. And October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.

I’ve seen so many stories of loss. Loss of hope, a tiny beginning that was nixed, the promise of a new life that would not make it to babyhood or toddlerhood or big school. 

While we have experienced our own losses, and come horribly close to another, I have never shared our story for the world to see. It is ours. Ours, but not uncommon, and not unexpected considering we started this whole parenting quest rather late in life.

I have my own reminders. Star Wars: Episode 7. Stranger Things. Blueberries. Sorry folks, there’s no heartbeat. 

Hospital corridor. Photo taken right after that ultrasound.

For us, these have turned into the layers of our life. They are there. They happened. They have been followed by successful pregnancies and beautiful babies and milestones and mischievous laughs and tantrums and sleep deprivation and cuddles and all of the things I hoped would come into our life, and so much more. The almosts, the near misses, the actual hospitalisation, have all reminded us of the precariousness of life as well as the enormity of the precious and amazing gift that is our children. 

The Most Special Person

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Something that our 3yo (C) has been saying lately is that she wants to get married. Yes, I snorted with surprise the first time she said it. I think it’s coming from seeing my wedding dress in the wardrobe and having one of her day-care friends going to a wedding recently. But this is something I am not keen to have happen too soon. Obviously.

“You have to be a grown up to get married.”

– “But I AM a grown up girl.”

“You have to be 18 at least.”

– “I’m nearly 18!”

“Well, who do you think you’re going to marry, anyway?”

– “YOU!”

“But I’m already married to daddy. You and baby E are special, but daddy is the most special person in the whole world for me. You can only get married if you find the most special person in the whole world for YOU.”

I’ve been hearing me through her for a little while now, in her playtime and more recently how she talks to E. But because we’ve had this marriage conversation a few times, I wasn’t sure it had sunk in just yet.

Until a week ago. We had my brother over for a little visit, and something was mentioned about him getting engaged (VERY exciting). And in the middle of all the grown ups talking about weddings and how he proposed, C pipes up with “because she’s the most special person in the whole world for you?”

I teared up a little, knowing that yes, she has really heard this, and yes, my brother has found his most special person, and yes, I found my most special person. In the whole entire world. 

Glenn and I celebrate our 2nd wedding anniversary today. 2 years doesn’t sound like much. But 2 years also feels like an age, for all the right reasons. Mostly because I can’t imagine my life without him.

And we are building our most special life together.

A Trip to the Hospital

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[Trigger Warning: baby trauma]

Last Thursday – RUOK Day – we were not ok for a large part of the day. We had to take our baby to the hospital, and not for the first time. [Spoiler alert: everything is fine.] There were many emotions.

I am so aware that, for some parents, a trip to the hospital is a regular thing. For some parents, a trip to the hospital doesn’t have a happy ending. And for some parents, they’ve never had to take a child to the hospital at all. 

What happened was nobody’s fault. It wasn’t from rough play, or neglect, or distraction. Bubs straightened her arm at the wrong time. We couldn’t tell what was wrong, just that something was wrong. Last time we were there, saying in our befuddled panic that we weren’t sure if we should have gone in, the triage nurse cut us off and said, always, ALWAYS when they are this little, just come in. So, not knowing quite what the problem was, we went in.

Thankfully, she was quiet on the way there. Thankfully, we were assured we had done the right thing by going in. Thankfully, we live where we live. The Children’s Hospital is not far away, and treatment is excellent and free. All it cost us was some time. Because she was calm (except when anyone looked at her), we had a bit of a wait. 

But in that time we became less and less worried. When we were eventually seen, the diagnosis was a pulled elbow. Very common in children under 5. Very easily fixed. A wiggle and a waggle and her arm was as good as new.

There was so much relief. What more could any parent want, really? She was fine. Her arm is fine. She will be able to grow up to play violin and dance and swim. We didn’t have to stay in the hospital, or even have an X-ray. And we were out of there in good time for the daycare pick up and treat night for dinner.

‘I picked a daisy on the way home for you, mummy, to make you feel all better’.

Good Thing She’s Adorable

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We are in THAT zone of baby sleep.

The ‘dropping a nap so is overtired so can’t sink into sleep so stays awake’ stage. The ‘practising new skills in the cot so stays awake’ stage. The ‘adjusting to solids and all that does to the insides so stays awake’ stage. The ‘new awareness of surroundings so needs to have someone there for any chance of going back to sleep’ stage.

We’ve had some shocking nights recently. ‘Good thing she’s adorable’ has been said more than once as we hear yowls and coos interspersed with frustrated acks at 4am when she’s been awake since 3am. And in those long hours of patting and ssshhhing and bobbing up and down I have been so aware of how much better I am handling it this time around. 

First Time Mum me – well. Tired and frustrated. Knowing all the reasons for the staying awake but in some ways that made it more frustrating. I KNOW you’re overtired because you refused to nap but if you would just nap when you’re meant to then we wouldn’t be in this position now, would we?! And then, more often than not, after hours of trying all sorts of ways to get her back to sleep, a burp or a fart would pop out and then, like magic, she would be asleep.

Second Time Mum me remembers these things. Why are you crying? Is it- oh. Nice burp! Theeere you go…. asleep. Second Time Mum me is far more understanding of the practising new skills stage. Maybe because I know it really is just a phase and, although it will feel like it is never-ending and I’ll never sleep again, there will be a morning that I wake up because I’m ready to wake up and not because I have to attend to a frustrated baby and she will be still asleep and on her tummy with a hand sticking through the cot rails. Second Time Mum me is better at staying calm knowing that nobody will fall asleep if there is a whiff of frustration in the air. And, to be really honest, Second Time Mum me tries to channel Chilli Heeler a whole lot more. In the ‘Sleepytime’ episode of Bluey (SUCH a gem) when Chilli says, Remember, I’ll always be here for you. 

And it makes this whole mothering thing so much easier. Yes, my back is suffering from leaning into a cot for hours. Yes, I am often so sleep-deprived I literally can’t stand or even sit straight. Yes, there is stuff I want to do (as well as sleep) while my girls sleep. But if I take care of the ‘being here for you’ side of things first, the other things are manageable. 

Where to Begin?

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Why now? 

Why, at all?

Well. There has been so much happen in the world and in our own little corner of the world recently. The Taliban has advanced through Afghanistan. Covid is raging in American schools and across the world and throughout parts of Australia (different scales, admittedly). Smaller tragedies that have hit home, hard.

Our baby can now sit, and started using the high chair, and flinging food across to our 3-year-old’s hair, and is teething furiously. Our 3-year-old is saying more and more expressions that we haven’t heard from her before, and painting the thunderstorms that kept her awake when she was 2, and getting better at matching sounds to letters, and building forts to sleep in at night.

And all of the stuff of our life will be lost, save for the photos we take, unless I make it more memorable with the actual writing of the words. Photos help, but don’t tell the full story. I can’t get a photo of the heaviness of a baby sleeping on my chest, or the feeling of soft skin and little fingers holding my hand, or the momentary flash of a smile as a face is upturned towards me. I can’t get a photo of the frustration when sleep is a battle, when food isn’t eaten, when no response is given, when their independence overtakes all reason. 

This is, therefore, partly to keep in my mind the wonderful things my children do, and how wondrous it is to be their parent, and just how fortunate we are to be where we are; to work through things for my own sake, to try to be a better parent; and to share the little things we do in our family that make up the stuff of our life.

So this is who we are. I’m Anna, wife of Glenn, mother of our two young girls. We love Star Wars and Minions and Bluey and Frozen and all things pink; baking and bubbles and food and creating.

Welcome.