Secrets and Lies

I'm afraid, dear readers, that I have been keeping a pretty big secret for a while now, and it's been tough. I'm not good with secrets. I can keep other people's without hesitation, but my own, especially when there really aren't any consequences for blabbing, are a lot less likely to stay in the vault. It's even harder when your secret is good news. Once you've confided in one friend, it's easy to confide in a few more, and then suddenly you're announcing it to the other mums at playgroup. There were people we had to tell - a few key family members, and then of course there was the inevitable, "well, if they know, we really should tell..." I had to tell my boss, even before I told my parents, and then I felt bad that all my colleagues knew and so I shared it with a few more friends.

Like winning the lotto and not having the money in the bank yet, this unexpected piece of news didn't feel real until I told people. While I felt guilty telling virtual strangers, it was easier to tell people who weren't emotionally invested in it. If it had turned out that we'd had our numbers wrong, it would've been a lot easier to accept sympathy from the neighbours than having to deal with those closest to us, who also would've felt like they had lost something. The thing I struggled with the most was not being able to blog about it. I'm so honest here that it felt wrong, almost like I was lying by omission, to keep it off these pages. I promised my husband there would be no cyber announcement of any kind until we had told all of our family members. This of course led to a heated debate about who we each consider to be "family."

I did, despite having a very big mouth, feel quite protective about my little secret. I wanted to choose who I told and when I told them, and I hoped my close friends would hear it from me before it made its way around the grapevine. I had a few people ask me outright if I had recently had some good news. I have to admit I denied it a few times, and those closest to me here denied it on my behalf (thank you dear friends!). I did feel bad denying it and even lying about it, rolling my eyes melodramatically while exclaiming, "oh no! Definitely not!" It did get progressively harder to deny, and was made harder by the fact that I have been walking around looking like this for several weeks now...

So you see, despite my fairly recent protestations about not being ready for another baby, mother nature clearly had other plans and I am 13 weeks pregnant. We knew we'd have another one eventually, but we've got a lot going on this year, so it wasn't on the agenda at all. Once the initial shock wore off and the nausea set in, it all felt very real, and I had a serious case of deja vu - it really didn't feel like that long ago that we were in this position. The last time I fell pregnant without trying to, it didn't end well, so I really felt like this one wouldn't stick either, which is crazy I know. Until last week I felt like death, sicker than I've ever felt before. This time round it's like extreme pregnancy - I'm sicker, more tired, ferociously cranky one minute and desperately weepy the next (so, now you might understand why going back to work was so tough!). But despite all that I'm absolutely thrilled. Each week that has passed, every time I've seen my little button on an ultrasound or heard his or her heartbeat, I've done a little dance and I could not be happier. As you can imagine, 13 weeks of keeping this to myself has meant that I have a lot of things to say on the subject, but for now I just wanted to get it off my chest, finally! We're 6 months away from becoming a family of four, life is sweet, the secret's out.

Mission Aborted

Sorry doesn't begin to describe how I feel about bailing out of my promise to write a post every day this week, but I do have a very good excuse. You see, we must have done something to offend the powers that be recently, because we've had a few really bad days, a few bad weeks in fact. And did I mention there's a typhoon on the way...?


It all started when I left my boys to fend for themselves for a week, and J got a nasty chest infection. This plague upon our house then spread to my husband (man flu deserves a post all its own), and I finally succumbed this week. In an attempt to boost our little man's immune system after all this illness we took him to a homeopath last week. We came home with a bag full of supplements, administered them as per the instructions, and then watched as our child turned into a puffer fish after having an allergic reaction to one of them... He woke up an hour after we put him to bed, screaming the house down. His little face was red and swollen and he was having trouble breathing. We gave him some antihistamines and he quickly started to look more like himself, but he was clearly having stomach cramps. We spent the whole night awake, trying to make him more comfortable. Unfortunately that involved sleeping in his dad's arms, or between us in the bed. At one point D and I were perched on the very edges of our king-sized bed, wrapped around our son like awkwardly shaped bookends, exhausted and demoralised, and feeling certain that we were passing a parenthood rite of passage. Surely it couldn't get any worse than this...


But it did. J was fine after that night of horror, we were shattered, but relieved it hadn't been more serious. With the supplements safely placed in the back of the cupboard to gather dust with the lentils and green tea, we went on with the business of living. We had a great start to the week and all was well until J took a tumble down the stairs yesterday. He's always been fairly confident, but cautious when it comes to our staircase. There's a gate at either end so he can't tackle them boldly on his own, but he always checks to make sure the gate is closed when we're going up or down. It was while I was closing the gate behind us yesterday that J decided to step off the top step on his own and his little hand slipped out of mine. He was at the bottom before I could catch him. I thought I was scared on Friday night, but nothing prepared me for the terror I felt watching helplessly as my son fell down those damn stairs. When I got to the bottom, a split second behind him, I picked him up and checked for damage. Apart from a few bruises he was fine. Hysterical, but fine. We held onto each other as if our lives depended on it and he gently fell asleep on my shoulder. Relief quickly gave way to the guilt that comes with knowing I could've prevented the whole thing, and that it could've been much much worse. It didn't help matters when my husband pointed out that I needed to be more careful...clearly. I sobbed into my little guy's neck and gingerly took him upstairs to bed. Then I made plans to carpet the stairs.


I actually did write something yesterday but it was full of self-pity. I've been feeling very responsible for this run of bad luck, and since I've been back it seems like I've lost my groove. J didn't want anything to do with me on Friday night - his dad was the only one who could comfort him. Not only did I feel responsible for his pain, I felt obsolete as a mother. Then he had an accident on my watch, it was like I failing miserably at the one job I thought I could do. Here is an excerpt from what I wrote yesterday, just to give you a hint of how bad I was feeling...


So, I'm left feeling like the worst mother in the world and wondering if perhaps my boys would be better off, safer even, if I packed my bags and headed for the hills. I've never been a completely confident mother; I question myself a lot and wonder if I'm doing the right thing, and I take even the slightest criticism really personally. But I've always been confident that I was doing the best I could with what I had. The last few weeks I've felt like I've lost my mummy-mojo, and that my best simply won't do anymore. When I was a kid I expected a lot from my parents and I hated it when my mum would say "you'll understand when you have your own kids." One thing I do now understand is that parents are far from perfect, especially at the start, and sometimes no matter how hard we try, we can't stop our kids falling down the stairs. We just have to pray that if and when they do, they'll bounce. I'm taking full responsibility for the recent series of woes that have befallen us and I'm going to go upstairs and watch my beautiful boy sleep until I can figure out how to make my best better. Does anyone else ever have days like this? I'd really like to know.


You'll be happy to know that I didn't pack my bags, but I did go and watch my son sleeping. While I was there I pulled a book off the shelf that some friends gave us before J was born. It's called "1000 Top Tips for Mums and Dads," and it's brilliant. There are lots of great tips on general parenting for kids of all ages. Then at the back there's a chapter simply titled "Wisdom." It was if this chapter had been written for me, and it was exactly what I needed at the time. It talked about not beating yourself up when you have a bad day, but giving yourself credit for all the things that do go right. The book also reminded me that if you treat your kids with love and kindness, they'll love you unconditionally, no matter what (this also made me cry). J didn't blame me for his trip down the stairs. He'd completely forgotten about it by the time he woke up. My little boy wasn't going to forgive me, because there was nothing to forgive in his mind. It was a bit of a revelation! We might be sick and bruised, and our spirits might be slightly broken, but we're all still here, still functioning as a family, and that deserves to be celebrated. So yesterday afternoon I put the pity party away and we spent the gorgeous summer afternoon on the roof in the paddling pool. And that's why there wasn't a post yesterday.

Trading Places

My recent trip to the UK gave my husband and I a unique opportunity to walk in each other's shoes for a week. When he comes back from a trip we're always trying to out-do each other with tales of jet-lag and baby-related exhaustion. He complains about how hard it is to spend so much time on a plane, turn your body clock on its back and then fly back and have to readjust all over again. Meanwhile, after 4 days and nights on my own I'm usually tearing my hair out and ready for a break. Generally speaking we both find it difficult to sympathise with each other.

So, ready to prove him wrong about, well, everything, I arrived in London completely wiped out after 12 hours flying. I didn't even have to work on the flight, but I was still unmoved. When I switched my phone on there were two text messages from home; J had developed a fever after I left and had coughed all night. They were on their way to the doctor. On the one hand I desperately wanted to turn around and come home - it was hard enough to leave as it was - but on the other, I couldn't help but think that it was about time my husband found out that our days weren't all playgroups and cuddles.

J was sick, really sick, the sickest he's ever been according to D. I received updates several times a day and my heart broke a little bit each time my little guy refused to look at me on Skype. Apparently he asked for me constantly and was absolutely miserable. I hated being so far away knowing he was so unwell. I had to concede that my husband had been right about that one.

I did however, think that I had proved him wrong when I managed to adapt to the time zone change almost immediately, and I had as much fun as I imagined him having every time he was away. Once I got into the swing of things, had some time with friends, saw some sights, and shopped up a storm, I realised I'd gone too far to not enjoy myself. I consoled myself and eased my mummy guilt with the thought that J would be just as miserable if I were at home; his father wasn't doing anything that I wouldn't have done myself, and that made being away not nearly as hard as I had imagined. Despite the time zone change and the fact that my hosts had 15 month-old twins, I slept better than I had in 2 years. I didn't have to worry about anyone else, there were no decisions that had to be made about who was going to eat what and where we were going to go or what we were going to do. As I'm writing this my little man is upstairs asleep but the dog is beside me, desperately trying to get some love. At home there's always someone who wants a piece of me, and it was really nice to be away and keep all my pieces to myself. I do not wish to have a job that takes me away all the time, but I do envy my husband for those days he gets to himself. That hasn't changed.

I was, however, desperate to get home and if I could've made that plane fly any faster I would have. When I came back (after a god-awful flight which you can read about here), I was relieved but a little bit disappointed. J and D met me at the airport and my snotty, sweaty little guy didn't run and leap into my arms as I had imagined, he just kind of stared at me and seemed very uncertain about who I was and why I was there. Eventually he wrapped his arms around my neck and didn't let go, but he has made me work hard to earn back his trust ever since. My husband has always complained that it takes at least 2 days for J to love him again when he gets back from a trip, and I've never minded so much, because it usually means that Mummy is his favourite person for that time. But when it was the other way around it was like a knife in my heart. Yes, that definitely sucks.

Then there was the jet-lag. D had warned me that it would harder at this end, something about going east, but I thought that missing a night's sleep on the way back would exhaust me so much I'd sleep like normal. I was so wrong! The first two nights I did pass out at 8pm, but then I'd wake up around 11 and be fully awake for about 4 hours. Then I'd go back to sleep and find it impossible to wake up in the morning. Being the jet-lag veteran, and all-round good guy that he is, my husband had a lot of sympathy and patience for me - far more than I deserved. He took care of a still-sick J, let me sleep when I needed to and dished out melatonin tablets when I was desperate to get back on track. I only ever give him 24 hours grace when he comes back from somewhere and after that he has to get his act together and be a fully-functioning member of the family. I wasn't sure if he was so kind because he knew what I was going through, or whether he was hoping to earn brownie points and more sympathy for the next time he goes away, but either way, he put me to shame.

At the end of it all I had a new perspective on what it's like for my husband to have to travel internationally for a job. It's definitely hard work, and I would hate to not have a choice about it. But, as he succumbed to the same flu that plagued our son, D declared "you win!" He readily admitted that my job is indeed harder. So, while I enjoyed my time away immensely, I'll be leaving the jet setting to the professionals from now on. Because I realised just how much I love my job, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Is Prevention Better than Cure?

I hate injections. Not to the point where I'll avoid them, but I do get myself into a bit of a state if I know I need one. It's especially bad now that I have a child who needs them on a fairly regular basis for the first few years of his life. Despite my reservations I've made the decision to go and get a flu vaccination next week. Mainly because I'm spending a lot of time in schools and playgroups, surrounded by children, these days, and also because the years when I haven't had the shot, I've been so sick that doctor's visits were a weekly occurrence. I'm in two minds about whether or not to give J the flu vax as well, and I'm not sure I can explain why.

The issue of vaccines for babies and children generates heated debate and impassioned argument, and has a tendency to divide opinions. Despite advances in modern medicine and the number of serious illnesses that have all but been eradicated because of vaccines, there are still people out there who don't believe in vaccinating themselves or their children. We recently watched a documentary about it which basically made the naysayers look like complete idiots. One mother argued that since polio is virtually non-existent, there was no point continuing to vaccinate against it. She seemed oblivious to the fact that the disease is rare because of vaccines. There was also footage of an anti-vaccine protest where protesters were driven by the "links" between the MMR vaccine and autism. One scientist published one article several years ago (which has since been retracted) discussing this alleged link which lead to a world wide backlash against vaccines. His theories have since been disproven many times over but a lingering doubt remains.

Type the words "vaccine and autism" into Google and you'll be hit with an overwhelming number of sites dedicated to the argument over whether or not there is in fact a link between the two. It's quite scary, so if you're a worrier like me, don't go there. I did however, read some interesting statistics while doing my "research." In the early 1900's whooping cough (pertussis) killed 5 in every 1000 babies before their 5th birthday in the U.S. When a vaccine was introduced the number of deaths declined by 70%. In the US, due to the backlash against vaccines that has occurred in recent years, the number of cases is again rising, to the point where they declared an epidemic in California last year. The World Health Organisation estimates that world wide 300,000 children die every year from this preventable disease, making it one of the leading causes of death in the world. Prior to modern vaccination, the child mortality rates for now preventable diseases was horrific (and in some countries it still is!). The number of alleged vaccine related autism cases pales into insignificance in comparison. I admit there is nothing insignificant about having your child diagnosed with autism, but the risks just don't add up when you consider the alternative: a world where the general population is no longer inoculated against these terrible diseases.

I'm aware that I'm at risk of sounding like I'm sitting on the fence with what I'm about to say, but I'm not. I'm very clearly pro-vaccine but I do at times understand the point of view of those on the other side of the fence. Despite the fact that I consider myself to be quite rational, and knowing that vaccination is so necessary, I still feel slightly uncomfortable with the idea. It was tough watching my brand new baby being injected with a vaccine to prevent a disease he may never (god willing) be exposed to. A few days after he was born he was given a BCG shot to protect him against tuberculosis, an injection that creates a wound that stays around for months, and leaves a nasty scar that will be a permanent reminder that our son started life in a country still grappling with this terrible disease. Having my son vaccinated wasn't an issue for me, until he arrived. While I was pregnant I read about a young baby that had died after contracting whooping cough. She was too young to be vaccinated against it but happened to live in an area (northern rivers, NSW) where many parents had chosen not to vaccinate their children. She contracted it from a toddler who was visiting. If nothing else that story should be enough to convince anyone with doubts about vaccines that they really do save lives, so why isn't it that black and white?

Personally I think it has more to do with the vaccines themselves than with the diseases they prevent. As with any medical treatment, I don't believe that we should accept vaccines without knowing what they do and what they contain. The arguments against vaccines that contain things like mercury (Thimerosal) as a preservative, are very valid, and we do have a right to know what's in them and why. Again, in the documentary we watched, there was a lot of blah blah about pharmaceutical companies and the money they make out of vaccines and it all being some sort of scheme to rort the public out of millions of dollars. After working in the pharmacy industry for several years I don't think this is a completely ludicrous suggestion, but it isn't enough of a reason to forego vaccines altogether. The schedule of vaccines is also used as a reason for not vaccinating. There have been times when I have wondered if it's really necessary to vaccinate against several diseases all at once.  It seems like an awful lot for a little body to cope with, and it's no wonder some children have reactions after their jabs. At the same time, I think I'd rather watch my son suffer the mild discomfort of an injection rather than the lifelong effects of hepatitis, or struggling for breath with whooping cough.

So I guess after all that my point is this: vaccines are necessary, not just for the health of your own children but for the health of others, but we should also make it a point to inform ourselves about them and to keep the medical profession on their toes. I think the fact that we do argue about whether or not to vaccinate our children is a good thing; it proves that vaccines have done their job. If smallpox was still prevalent in society today there's no way we'd be arguing about vaccines; we'd do whatever we needed to do to protect our children.

Things that go Bump in the Night

Our little guy doesn't crawl yet. From about 6 months of age he's much preferred to walk holding on to someone's hands. Despite reading a lot of negative reports about baby walkers we had to get one to save our backs and he loves it. We keep it downstairs and there's nowhere that he can trip or fall out of it so we feel confident that he's quite safe. He has full scope to chase the dog from one side of the living room to the other with a mischievous glint in his eye, and he lets us know he wants to go out by heading straight for the door. We were worried a few weeks ago that he wasn't crawling so we kept him out of the walker for a week. It didn't make any difference; he was just very cranky!

In the last week or so he's finally started showing signs that he might be crawling soon, and he is much more mobile. He's pulling himself up on furniture, and as soon as he's standing he gets a great big grin on his face, as if he's so very proud of himself. His latest manoeuvre is to transition from sitting to all fours by leaning forward (usually to grab something he's not supposed to) quickly followed by collapsing onto his belly. It's painful, but wickedly amusing, to watch him get so close to a crawl only to fail at the last hurdle. We're starting to realise how unsafe our house actually is as J lunges for cords and pulls things off shelves. We made an emergency purchase of stair gates, door closers, cord shorteners and corner cushions on Kiddicare.com this week so hopefully this time next week the place will be a little more baby-proof.

Our biggest worry, safety-wise, was the cot and we lowered it as soon as we realised J could use the bars to pull himself to standing. We've been a bit lazy to this point and have not been in the habit of raising the side gate. So late last night when we heard a loud crash coming from J's room we both instantly thought he'd fallen out of the cot and ran in there quicker than you can say "slack parents!" J was safely curled up asleep; all he'd done was kick the side of the cot, but my heart was palpitating for about an hour afterwards. The irony is, last night was the first night this week that J was feeling better and slept well...

I know as he gets older and able to get into more mischief we'll have to think of new ways to keep the house safe, but for now we're going to start by raising the side of the bed, every single night.

Thanks again for all the support this week, especially to the friends who offered to take my calls in the middle of the night; it's very much appreciated. We all got sick in the end and we're desperately hoping that we can harden up and avoid catching every little bug J brings home.  See you next week x

Oh, What a Night!

Last night I had a total of two hours sleep, and I slept on the floor in J's room, listening to him cough and wheeze his way through the night. Our first official illness is upon us. Yesterday afternoon while we were playing on the floor I noticed that little guy felt warm. I took his temperature and it was 37.8 degrees, so I stripped him down to his nappy and gave him some Panadol. I kept my eye on his temperature and watched it slowly head down then back up again. When he refused to eat his dinner and turned down his bedtime bottle I was a little worried but put him to bed as I normally would. Between 10-11pm I went in to him four times as he woke with a coughing fit and decided since I wasn't going to get any sleep I'd be better off closer to him. I might have imagined it but he seemed pleased that I was there and settled back down fairly easily.

Around midnight his temperature hit 39 degrees and I took his pyjamas off and gave him more Panadol. He was coughing and wheezing a lot and his breathing was really fast and shallow at times. I started to worry that he was going to get really sick, really quickly and I felt a little out of my depth. I did a first aid course just last week and we talked about fevers, so I had some idea of what I was doing. I kept checking his temperature and wiping his little forehead with a cold face cloth. I contemplated sending a text message out to friends in the hope that someone would be up at that time of night, I needed reassurance that I was doing the right thing, but in the end decided I didn't want to wake anyone. I don't know if they have anything similar here but I know back in Australia there are 24-hour hotlines you can call and get a nurse's advice. If that fails there's also the option of grandparents and aunties who've been there, done that, but stuck in Hong Kong I just had to go it alone.

Once his temperature got back down to around 37, at about 2am, I went back to sleep with one hand up through the bars in the cot and five little fingers wrapped around one of mine. We were awake again at 3, 5 and 6.30am and each time the poor little guy had a coughing fit and struggled to settle back down. At 6.30 we got up for the day and he was very cuddly, which was nice but unusual. Normally he's leaping out of my arms as we come down the stairs, ready to start the day. I gave him breakfast and went back to bed, and my husband took him to our saintly GP. She diagnosed a viral chest infection and gave us a host of drugs to treat the symptoms, including an antihistamine to help him sleep. Given that he didn't sleep for longer than an hour at a time last night, it was the first thing I gave him after his lunch, and he's now peacefully napping upstairs.

Apart from reflux and a really mild head cold, J hasn't been sick at all. We've been really lucky to have made it nine months without him catching anything serious. We didn't take him out a lot when he was a newborn because it was winter, but we haven't avoided other kids or done anything deliberate to make sure he didn't get sick. As I lay there on the floor last night it hit me that this is what it means to be a parent, and I wondered how many times over the next 20 years I'd be lying awake like that listening to my son breathing beside me. I know there'll be times when it's pain and illness that keeps us up, and further down the track parties and broken curfews will be the cause of sleeplessness. I was worried at times last night, and I hate seeing J unhappy and uncomfortable but at the same time I felt confident that this was a problem I could fix. Instead of the normal things that worry me like feeding and sleeping, a fever has a very definite cure, and I knew what to do. I also knew that if I couldn't help my son, the doctor's clinic opened at 8. It was nice to have the answers for a change.