Second Time Around

You know all those things I said I'd never do again? All the mistakes I made and the lessons I learned the first time? Well... I'm doing it all again - rocking Charlie to sleep, giving him a dummy, carrying him around wherever I go when he absolutely refuses to sleep, feeding him in bed till we both fall asleep, and sitting around all day just enjoying his company instead of getting off my butt (which apparently did not receive the memo that we are no longer pregnant) and doing something resembling exercise/housework. I've given myself permission to do it all over again because I know what I'm doing this time, I know we'll end up with some bad habits and I'm ok with that. It's all about survival at the moment and if I have to take the path of least resistance to get through the next 6 months, so be it.

I read through book after book trying to find answers when J was smaller, and when I realised that none of them answered any of my questions, I tossed them all out. Some were a little helpful, but despite the one-size-fits-all solutions offered, my child just didn't comply. When Charlie came along he surprised us by being a comparatively easy baby and I didn't feel the need to turn to "experts" for advice. Then he hit the baby version of menopause - "the 6 week change" as Robin Barker calls it - and started napping for no more than 20 minutes at a time, several times a day. It was all too familiar...

I didn't have much of a plan in the beginning, I just knew I wanted to do things differently the second time around, I was determined, perhaps somewhat naively, to nip it in the bud. When Charlie went through "the change" I had no choice but to go back to the books. I borrowed one from a friend called "Sleep Sense" and it really did make sense. There were a few new, and genuinely helpful, pieces of advice in there but it was all just a bit too familiar. Again I was left asking, "but what do I do when...?" So I've decided that, for now, rather than trying to find one philosophy, one solution to all my problems, I'm going to do whatever the hell feels right at the time. At least once a day we practice attachment parenting, and Charlie naps on my chest or in the Ergo. Other times I channel the Baby Whisperer and take a firm but fair approach. Then there are times when he needs some serious Gina Ford style wrangling to go the f##k to sleep...  At least I'm consistent in my inconsistency, and I now have a 3 month old who goes to bed at 6pm every night and sleeps for 12 hours. I'm always going to stress about whether or not I'm doing the right thing, and I will question myself every step of the way but that's just one more thing the books can't help me with.

A friend told me, before Charlie arrived, that I'd appreciate baby number 2 all the more for the simple fact that, unlike with the first child, I wouldn't end up resenting the disruption to our lives. I wasn't sure I got what she meant at the time but now I do. Our lives were already chaos, and Charlie fit right in, like he was meant to be here, and we simply carried on. What has struck me the most is that the first 3 months of his life have gone so much faster than Josh's first 3 months (which dragged on FOREVER!). We got to the 12 week mark, looked at each other and said, "you know what, that wasn't so bad." And we gave ourselves a little pat on the back for making it through. There are still tough days, really really long days, and days when I have no clue what I'm doing, but unlike the first time around, I know they won't last. And there's a good chance that when Charlie is a strong and independent little man, I'll long for the days when he needed me wrapped around him to fall asleep. So I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing, making those mistakes, setting us up for bad habits, because I know that, if in making those mistakes again we risk history repeating itself, we'll be ok. Because we survived the last two years and we have a pretty awesome 2 year old to show for it.

Keeping it Real

This post has been in the works for a long time. I have struggled to find the words to say what I really wanted to say, and to be honest, I'm not sure I've found them yet. But saying "thank you", while it doesn't seem like enough, has been at the top of my To-Do list for a while now and I really need to say it. So many of you, friends and family, and blog friends who we've never met, have written or called to offer support, and I literally cannot tell you how much it has meant to me, to us. Everyone had a different perspective, words of kindness and wisdom, and a story to share, and every bit of it was positive. It has all helped immensely, and I will remember your support more than I will remember the low points we've had during this time. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Since I wrote about J's eye condition I haven't really had a moment to dwell on it. We've been busy sorting out referrals and seeing doctors in Hong Kong, trying to find someone who knows anything about it here (so far unsuccessfully). But we've also been busy going to playgroup, painting, eating playdough, playing with the train set, chasing the dog and mastering the new scooter. While his parents were busy freaking out, fretting about the future and making treatment plans, my beautiful boy just got on with being his awesome self. Don't get me wrong, life is definitely different. The task of putting in eye drops is a constant reminder that something is out of the ordinary but it's actually been quite easy to just "get on with it." Doctor's visits and any mention of genetics still make me feel ill but every new thing we learn, and every positive story we hear makes it that little bit easier.

What has helped above all else is watching J and seeing how completely unfazed he is - he has kept my feet firmly on the ground. Not only do I not have time to worry excessively, I don't want to, for fear of worrying him. He clearly isn't concerned with his lot in life and I'm not going to be the one that changes that. I had a bit of a lightbulb moment recently when reading this post on a friend's blog (if you want to read someone telling it like it is, I seriously recommend you check this one out). I realised that no amount of stressing about what is and what will be, will change who my little man is. 

He just fell asleep with his little hands firmly clutching my hand to his chest. I lay there curled around him until my arm went to sleep. I got into the habit of getting into bed with him at night when I was working, it was such a short time between getting home and him going to bed that I wanted to spend every single minute with him that I possibly could. Now, of course I have the new baby as an excuse - 5 more weeks of being able to give my firstborn my undivided attention, and if he wants Mummy in bed with him, so be it. Of course it's all driven by guilt and that desperate need to be needed that is every mother's curse, but it's moments like those that make me want to wrap him up and keep him just the way he is forever. That moment when he finally gives up and falls asleep is my new happy place. Until recently I was worried about his dependence on bottles and dummies, and the appalling situation we have found ourselves in at dinnertimes, and all those other "bad habits" parents obsess over, when, let's face it, there were bigger fish to fry around the corner, and our J bird was more than content with the status quo.  Contrary to what I once believed, letting my son put himself to sleep with a dummy and a bottle of milk at 2 years of age, does not make me a bad mother. Constantly worrying about everything we're doing "wrong" and getting in the way of our kid being himself, is a far worse crime if you ask me. And if anything, our recent woes have taught me that there is a lot more in life to worry about.

Of course, kids need consistent guidance and rules and boundaries and vegetables, and those things are ever-present in our house. But sometimes it doesn't hurt to let them lead the way, it might even be the best thing possible for everyone. In our case my son has taught me to let go and enjoy the moment, and that he will continue to be whoever he wants to be, no matter what obstacles are in his way, or how much I worry about him. And in our house that's how we keep it real, one day at a time.

A Birth Day

I started this post a while ago for very different reasons to why I'm finally putting it out there now. I have been known to get on the natural birth bandwagon from time to time, and I get quite distressed when I encounter women who are absolutely terrified of giving birth naturally, to the point of choosing to have an elective caesarean instead. I was pretty terrified at one point (and I'm sure I will be again second time round), but if you go in with the right mindset and know everything you can know, it's really not that scary. Trust me, I had such a good experience I'm going to do it again! Before I go off on a tangent, let me explain that I'm telling you my story today because my amazing little man just turned 2. He went from being a helpless, floppy, completely dependent (but adorable) newborn, to a very independent, confident and talkative little boy in such a short time that I cannot believe two years have passed since the night we drove to the hospital in the pouring rain and came home with a baby. It was the most incredible night of my life, and I really feel blessed to have brought such a special little person into the world. I cannot wait to do it again (and maybe again after that :-) Here's how it all went down...

Three weeks before my son was born I got a fright in the middle of the night. Something shifted and I went into what they call "pre-labour." I was quietly dilating and contracting while going about my business, and was totally oblivious to the fact until my next doctor's appointment. I saw my obstetrician three times in those three weeks, and the first two times she examined me and swore that we would have a baby within the next 48 hours. My husband extended his leave to ensure he was by my side, ready to leap into action any time I so much as whimpered (crying out in pain one night from a leg cramp had him halfway to the car before I calmly informed him it was not "go time."), I packed my bag and together we anxiously awaited our fate. In the meantime we did everything the books tell you to do if you're trying to bring on labour, although not always at the same time; for the record, vindaloo is not conducive to romance. On the third and final visit Dr G threw her hands in the air and refused to make any promises, "he'll come when he's ready," she said. Now that I know my son better, I've accepted that as part of who he is, and I love him for it, but at the time I was so desperate to meet him that I grew increasingly frustrated. It wasn't until I gave up and realised he had to come out eventually, that he finally made an appearance.

While we waited that week, we watched a documentary on zoo animals (during a break from eating curry, doing yoga and drinking raspberry leaf tea and pineapple juice), where we learned the interesting little fact that wild animals often go into labour at night, in bad weather, when there are fewer predators around, and we joked that maybe that was what the little guy was waiting for. And so it was, on a wet, windy and cold December night, just after getting into bed, my waters broke. Since the hospital was an hour away we had been advised to leave home when my contractions were 10 minutes apart - they started at 5 minutes apart. By the time we got to the hospital at midnight I could barely walk. I was also one of those annoying women who wanted to give birth without pain relief. Trust me when I tell you that it had nothing to do with being a martyr, I just hated the idea of someone sticking a needle in my spine. So I endured three solid hours of almost back-to-back contractions, all the while dealing with a really unhelpful midwife who kept coming in and telling me that yet another "hypnobirther" in the ward had caved in and asked for an epidural. She'd follow this with "so you want drugs yet?" I had my brilliant husband and my amazing sister-in-law in the room with me and they kept me going.

I had done a lot of research before I went into labour because I wanted to be prepared for what I could expect to happen. I also had an awful lot of time on my hands while I waited. By far the most helpful thing I read was from a book called "Birth Skills" by Juju Sundin (find more info here). She talked about fear leading to tension, and tension leading to pain, or at least increasing it. She also reminds pregnant mums that the pain of childbirth is very different to the pain caused by disease or injury: it's a positive pain caused by your muscles working to help you deliver your baby. It's also a temporary pain. It all made perfect sense to me, and armed with the faith that my body knew what it was doing, I was able to relax and just go with it. You'll be pleased to know that throughout it all I stayed very calm, and only yelled at my husband once. I wasn't a complete hero I have to admit. At around 2.30am I had had just about as much as I could take. My labour had been mercifully short (if you don't count the first three weeks!) but really intense. I was ready to take whatever they could give me to make the pain go away but when the midwife had a little look-see downstairs she was surprised to find that I was ready to push. It was too late for the drugs. I made do with gas and air (a godsend, that made me feel a million bucks) and got ready to meet my son. The doctor arrived, wearing scrubs and gumboots, which I found a little alarming. She told me I'd have a baby by 5am, which seemed like an awfully long time away to me, but I didn't have to wait that long. JWC was born at 3.14 am weighing a very robust 4kgs. The relief was instant, and apart from the overwhelming love and adoration, I also felt kind of proud. I had done it, I had survived childbirth. The pain didn't kill me, I didn't give up, and my trust in my own ability proved worthwhile. Anytime after that when I was sleep deprived and miserable, days when I felt completely helpless because I had no idea what I was doing, I thought back on that night and it gave me the motivation I needed to keep going. It was such a boost - "I gave birth to an enormous (but adorable) baby without drugs, I can do anything."

Giving birth to a baby of that size, in that space of time, isn't without its drawbacks, and I have the scars to prove what I went through. But, without sounding blase or trite, I'd do it all again now that I know what I got in the end.

Those first 24 hours, in fact the first weeks and months have all been blurred in my mind, but the memory of holding my little guy for the first time will stay vividly in my memory forever. I felt like I already knew him, we'd waited so long to meet him, and he'd been with me all that time, but I knew there was still so much we had to learn about each other. We spent the first 12 months of his life focused on the basics that would keep him (and us) alive - food and sleep. Then we relaxed a little and got to know him for the person that he is, and it's been a blast. He's so much like me at times, then so much like his dad at others. Then there are the times when he's a completely unique individual and we look at each other and wonder where he came from. He loves cars, trucks, buses, planes and Thomas the Tank Engine. He adores his daddy, but only mummy's company will do last thing at night and first thing in the morning. He dances around the living room and sings us songs in Mandarin. He loves being outdoors and has been known to wear our shoes, and often looks like a very short version of my father. He eats like a sparrow, has the energy of 10 men, and likes to pretend he is a cat. And we think he is simply awesome. It's been fascinating and fantastic and very, very funny at times, and we can't wait to see what the next 12 months have in store. Happy Birthday my little J bird x

The Name Game

My regular readers would know that I'm kind of obsessed with names. The first post I wrote about the topic (this one) is the most read post on this blog, so I'm guessing it's a topic of interest to all of you out there too. I've mentioned before that I had J's name chosen long before I had a ring on my finger, I just never thought about what I might name my second child...

When I was pregnant with J I was convinced, initially, that I was having a girl. I had also decided that my baby girl was going to be named Zoe. Then we had friends name their daughter Zoe, a couple of months into my pregnancy, and I still loved the name, but I lost interest. I've really liked a lot of girls names since then but I still haven't found "the one." I was chatting to a friend about this recently. We agreed that there is that moment when you chose a name where you kind of go, "hmmm, Mary, that's a really pretty name." You try it out with your surname and a few potential middle names, you like the sound of it, you might even write it down to see how it looks. And suddenly you find yourself picturing what your little Mary looks like. You might even secretly refer to your baby as Mary in your mind. When my husband and I found ourselves both doing that with J we knew there was no other name for our baby boy.

This time round we once again have a boy's name picked out. We're still open to suggestions but there's one name that we both adore, and after J was born we said if we ever had another boy we'd give him this particular name. Once again, friends have recently had a baby boy and they gave him this name, but this time round we don't care. The likelihood of these boys growing up together is remote (now that I've said that they'll probably be best friends!) and the parents in question aren't the kind to be put out that someone else loves the name and wants to use it. I just wish I could find a girl's name that I love with such conviction.

I thought I had found it today. I was teaching a little girl recently, quite possibly one of the sweetest kids I've ever had the pleasure of working with, and she got me thinking about this name. It's not the kind of name I would ever have imagined for my daughter in a million years, but just this morning I heard the name on TV (and the girl attached to it was also very sweet). I started thinking about the little girl from school and tried the name on for size. I liked it, and it met most of my criteria - short, simple, pretty, good for an adult or a baby, almost nickname-proof. Then I took J out and we happened to run into the very same girl I had been thinking about! I thought it was a sign from the universe. My husband's response when I asked him what he thought of this name was a very straightforward but definitive "no." So we're back to the drawing board.

When my parents were here recently my dad kept referring to the baby as April, because that's when he thought I was due. Even when I corrected him he kept it up and that got me thinking that April's a pretty cute name for a girl. April's my favourite month of the year, we got married in April, I was thinking maybe it could work, but D was horrified I was even considering naming our child after a month. D and I sometimes agree on names we like, but we mostly disagree and neither of us has come up with a girl's name we both love. I like Kate, he prefers Katherine. He loves Isabella, but I think it's too long to go with our surname. We both like Grace, but we don't love it. Not to mention all the beautiful names, already given to children by our friends, that we've had to cross off the list. I just know if we have a girl, she's going to be known as Baby Girl C for at least the first week of her life! I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps our inability to settle on one perfect girl's name is simply a sign that we're destined to have only boys...

Milestones

I just realised that A Mummy in a Strange Land turned one yesterday! Yes, it's been a whole year since my very first post. I'm getting more sleep these days and I hope that's reflected in the writing! Whether it is or not, I just wanted to say a big thank you for reading, commenting, supporting and inspiring me.

When I first started writing I didn't really have a plan or a vision for where I wanted this thing to go - I just knew I wanted an outlet. Hong Kong was driving me crazy and despite having lived here for 3 years, I didn't feel like I was home yet. I still have days like that, and this week especially I have been feeling intensely homesick, but being able to write about it has helped immensely. You guys, out there, writing or calling to tell me you feel the same way has helped even more. I thought I had it all figured out until I had a baby, and there have been lots of times when I have thought that I had him all figured out but was proven to be quite wrong. But I wouldn't change a thing. Not a minute of it.

A lot has changed in the last year - it's been amazing, wonderful, heartbreaking and exhausting all at once, and life is only going to get more interesting, more wonderful, and more exhausting in the next 12 months. I can't wait, and I hope you'll all stick around to read about it.

Modern Dilemmas

Lately I've been faced with a bit of a dilemma; whether or not to go away with my husband, sans bebe. I think it says a lot about how lucky we are, if this is the biggest thing we have to worry about, so I'm grateful for that. I don't expect any sympathy for the fact that I have to decide whether or not I can face a trip to Milan (oh, poor me!) but I'm sure that most parents, at some point, need to get away and can at least relate to that aspect of my problem. I know if we still lived in Sydney and had a somewhat normal life we'd probably have left J with his grandparents months ago and headed off to the coast for a weekend. The fact that we're talking about an international business class trip might make me sound spoiled, but it doesn't make it any easier.

Before we were Mama and Dada we did a bit of travelling together and I went on two of D's work trips. Back then he was mostly flying to North America and the Middle East so I tagged along to New York and L.A. and we had an awesome, but brief, time. At the time I was working, and spending 32 hours on a plane for a 48 hour layover required more stamina than I could muster most weeks, so I didn't go away as often as I could have. As soon as J was born and I was grounded, D started flying to places like London, Milan and San Francisco, and he's had some incredible travel experiences without me, much to my dismay. As he's due to do his upgrade in a couple of months these trips will soon become a thing of the past, and I'll be a little less envious when he's flying to Taipei and back in a day. For a while now we've been talking about taking advantage of the great rosters and the option of me going to work with him once again, since Hong Kong's proximity to the rest of the world is one of the main reasons why we moved here in the first place. This month D was given a Milan trip with 2 whole days there. We talked about a side trip to Venice, and when we realised that it was a few days before our anniversary, it seemed like it was meant to be. Then we calculated that we'd be away from J for 4 nights, 3 days, and it seemed like an awfully long time to be on the other side of the world. We talked about taking him with us but the thought of a 12 hour flight with a 15 month old and an 8 hour time difference ruled that out pretty quickly. Putting him through that just because we couldn't be away from him seemed more selfish than going without him. We tried to justify it to ourselves in so many ways. It'd be good for us, he'd be fine, we'd make sure everyone in the neighbourhood knew we were away and ask them to check in. We talked to other parents about it and it seemed that everyone felt pretty strongly one way or the other, there were very few sitting on the fence with us. There were those who were quite happy to take off for a few days and leave the kids with the helper, and they wondered why we were even talking about it, "book now," they cried. Others hated leaving their kids for even a day, and wouldn't dream of going so far away without them. Their faces would twist into an agonised grimace as they said, "oh, no! I couldn't do that!" and looked at me like I was clearly a terrible mother for even thinking about it. People with more than one child were more likely to support the idea, and the older the kids are the easier it is to leave them apparently.

I was torn, and then D announced that if we were going to go we'd need to organise our wills and make sure we had decided who would take custody of J if anything happened to us. Suddenly our little trip to Venice took on a whole new light - I pictured the infinite number of ways we could come to grief (those gondolas are floating death traps!), and it suddenly seemed less appealing. So in the end D left last night, without me. He still plans to go to Venice and even though he was trying to appear disappointed, he was buzzing with barely contained excitement as he packed his bag. As it turns out, it wasn't meant to be; I have tonsillitis and wouldn't have been able to go anyway. Surely it's better that I chose not to go rather than being forced not to at the last minute? I would've been bitterly disappointed if I'd gone through all that angst, decided to go and then had to can the whole thing.

I know a certain friend was hoping I'd jump in and take the trip to Milan so that he could use it to encourage his wife to do the same. What I think would be a better solution would be for us girls to go away together and leave the dads in charge (sorry, S!). I wouldn't need any convincing for that kind of holiday; I'd be perfectly happy on the other side of the world if I knew J was with one of his parents. You see, this whole debate has got me thinking about the kinds of travel I really want to do, because these days it's a pretty big investment. I've realised I'm less keen for global adventure, and more interested in some quiet time somewhere else. Top of my list is obviously a family holiday, just the three of us. A parents-only break would be a nice treat if we could tear ourselves away. But deep down I'd really love to go away by myself. Just for a weekend, a few days, to get some sun, sleep, eat a meal without being interrupted and lie idle by a pool. Sounds fab doesn't it? And a lot easier to commit to.

For now we've decided on a trial baby-free getaway, somewhere close by instead, and next week for our anniversary we're off to Macau. We'll be gone for a night and the ferry trip is only an hour. So we could be back in a heartbeat if we needed to be. I have to admit, I'm ridiculously excited about it already, and if it all goes well and we cope without our little man for 24 hours, we'll see what the roster holds in May.

In other news, I've put my time lying sick in bed to good use, and I've given the blog a facelift. I hope you like it.

New Beginnings

Firstly I have to say a huge thank you to our friends who came and helped us celebrate J's birthday last weekend. It was a lovely afternoon and even though our little man was a little grumpy, in the end we all had such a good time. Looking at the photos of the 3 of us together cutting the cake, it amazed me how quickly the year has passed. Our son is not our baby anymore, he's a toddler, and a very cute one at that. It was great to have our friends together to celebrate that.

Our friends all ignored the "no presents" remark on the invitation and J received some great gifts, but one present stood out amongst them all, and that was a special gift for his parents. It was a charming wicker basket, disguised as a cardboard box, containing all sorts of grown-up goodies; wine, chocolate, fruit, cheese, and oysters. It came with the warning that the contents might lead to romance, and that romance can lead to first birthdays! It was an incredibly thoughtful gift and we were both really touched that someone had thought to acknowledge that we deserved a treat for the last 12 months. The sweet couple who gave us this gift don't have children (yet) and my first thought was a cynical one. Yes, it's all fun and games with your liquor and aphrodisiacs, but where's the romance nine months later when you have your knees in the air and a human being is coming out of you headfirst and hungry!? Little did they know, I thought to myself. Then, very quickly, the romantic in me took over. I started thinking about the start of a new life, the different ways our babies are created, and I loved the idea that our childless friends still have hope that a little bit of romance and some quality time is all it takes. And I realised that, even though we're not thinking about baby number two yet, I share that hope.

We've had friends who have fallen pregnant without even trying, by accident or design. Others fall pregnant easily enough, but have trouble staying that way. Some babies are planned and carefully timed, with a mummy and a daddy who are loving and committed. While others are the result of a chance encounter and too much of a good thing. Some people are born to reproduce and have more kids than they can cope with. While others try desperately for years to create a family without any luck. So many people have the will but lack the way, and need input from others to make their dream a reality. Some babies are made in a petrie dish, after their parents have been put through gruelling and very unromantic fertility treatment. With all of that in mind, I'm definitely hoping, for ourselves and our friends whose families aren't yet complete, that it really is as simple as a romantic night in.