My Weight is Over!

I’m faced with a most unpleasant situation.

About a month ago Bode finally weaned himself from breastfeeding - exactly 16 months and one week after he first began. My feelings were mixed. On one level it was a relief to have my body returned completely back to me for the first time in over two years. I can now eat whatever I want, drink whatever I want and be wherever I want to be (within the bounds of practicality and familial harmony of course) at any time of the day. 

Let's Talk About Sex Baby!

“Not tonight honey,” is the archetypal housewife’s response to her husband’s frequent advances. So common is this scenario in bedrooms around the world, the topic is oft-raised and mocked in all kinds of comedic references to marital life. Why is this?

Before my partner and I had a child, I can’t recall either one of us ever rebuffing an invitation made by the other. And in the early months after our son was born, there wasn’t much chance of rejection due to the dramatic reduction in the number of requests all around. And sure, on many nights I am simply too tired, or he is, but that message gets across well before any ideas are placed in any heads or any suggestions are made. All in all, we’re probably just your average first-time parents when it comes to the activities of the bedroom. What stirred me to consider in depth this particular dynamic of domestic life was a recent twist that we experienced in the natural order of things.

Motherhood: The Highest Highs! (and the Lowest Lows)

There is nothing like motherhood to expose us to uncharted extremes of emotion. I have always lived a quite passionate existence; experiencing euphoric highs of energy and sensation during times of motivated happiness counteracted by crushing lows of disappointment when my fortune and fervour ran dry.

But what I thought I knew about the limits of my emotional experience, I hadn’t a clue. The day I became a mother - actually three days before, during the first onset of labour and corresponding despair at my absolute loss of control - my soul was stirred to unfamiliar psychological depths.

Beware the Home Manager

Ian and I have always worked as an equal partnership when it comes to raising our son, cooking and cleaning, chores around the house, etc. (At least that’s the idea.) It was something we even verbally agreed on when we decided that we would have children. So when one of us cooks, the other does the dishes. Ian chops the wood and mows the lawn, and I manage the finances, the website and the admin work for our little shared business. I change Bode’s nappies all day when Ian works, so he changes more of them on his days off. We both do the shopping. And so on.

We have a reciprocal arrangement, and it works for us. One reason is that we have in common similar, quirky aspects of personality, such as our shared abhorrence of waste and our mutual delight in finding ways to be more efficient with our time, money and energy (bordering on obsessive compulsive here).

Before Baby: The Original ME

Er.... yes, definitely before baby

Here’s a fun little exercise; it’s one in which I have indulged quite a bit recently and so wanted to invite you to join in. Take a moment to think back and remember your life before you had your children. (I realise that for some of you this is a long time ago!)

Specifically, think about YOU back then and the things you did that gave you enormous pride in yourself. What big accomplishments or little daily victories gave you a sense of strength and fulfilment - made you stand up taller, feel powerful, or fill you with satisfaction, even if you were the only person around to witness it?

At the risk of embarrassing myself, I will share some of my own pre-baby moments in the hope that it might trigger some similar memories for you.

Harried Holidays

Am I the only mother out there that finds once-relaxing holidays not so relaxing any more?

We have been on two significant holidays now as a family and while both have offered a pleasant and fun respite from our day-to-day lives, I can’t say that I’ve returned home from them refreshed and relaxed.

First consider the packing and preparation. Like where will Bode sleep while we’re away? Last time it was the travel bassinette, this time it’s a portacot with an extra foam mattress. That’s nearly a third of the available trunk space in the car gone. Where will he sit while eating? Last time it wasn’t an issue because he was exclusively breastfed, this time he’ll need a highchair. The highchair at home would take up the entire remaining space in my Subaru (the only one of our vehicles that fits his carseat), so we’ll need to source a travel highchair that straps onto a normal chair. Thank goodness for the Internet.

The Exhaustion of Motherhood

Oh the exhaustion. I am just so tired all the time! Sleep deprivation is certainly nothing new to me (or any mother for that matter), but every time I reach a new peak of fatigue, I wonder when I will arrive at the oft-promised “easier” phase of parenting nirvana.

(Experienced mothers can stop laughing now.) While the early days and weeks of Bode’s babyhood were certainly the most intensely sleep-deprived ones, I didn’t actually “lose it” until he was 6-8 weeks old, ironically coinciding with him consistently sleeping for much longer periods through the night. By then the cumulative effects of sleep deprivation were eroding my sanity and the increase in my activity levels fuelled by my expectations of what I “should be able to do by now” were taking their toll physically. 

I was dancing on the cliff-edge of postnatal depression. Occasionally, I fell.

My wardrobe....my god!

I have never in my life been accused of spending too much time or money on fashion, shoes or my hair. (I recall the look of horror a friend gave me once when she asked to borrow my hairdryer and I told her I didn’t own one. I don’t think I own an iron either.) Those who know me might call me many things – no comments from the peanut gallery thank you - but I’m betting none of them would include trendy, stylish or haute couture.

Parenting on my Own

I’ve always considered myself strong and capable in so many ways, yet this little person has the ability to reduce me to a dribbling mess. Why don’t I feel as though I can cope on my own for 7 days? Other women do it. Other women appear to do it with ease, although surely this can’t be the case. Hubby called this morning to tell me that work was sending him away for seven days and six nights and I burst into tears.