Bye Bye Baby

After a lot of angst, we are finally a dummy free household. Well, almost. I kept one, and it's hidden away, for absolute, disaster-type emergencies only - which I know goes against all the recommendations for weaning, but we have some big things coming up and I want one handy. Josh loved his dummy, it was his lifeline, his safety net, his comfort zone, on so many occasions from when he was just a few months old. It saved my sanity more than once too. Once we managed to get it to a point where he only had it for nap-times and sleep, but then he grew up a bit and started asking for it more and more often, and we couldn't say no. It was a constant battle to keep it out of his mouth. Then there were tantrums when he wanted it and we didn't have one handy (usually in embarrassingly public situations), and at night he'd often lose it, wake up screaming, and we'd have a frantic late night search under the bed until it was retrieved and placed back in his tired little mouth.

I stopped buying them a long time ago, letting the old ones get ratty and disgusting, hoping he'd eventually give them up voluntarily. We had the best of intentions when it came to weaning, but we also had lots of excuses. A change in routine here, a new baby there, and it all went out the window, and the dummy became more and more an essential part of our day. Every photo from our trip to NZ recently features J sucking on a dummy and I hate it! His dependence on it, and our inability to fight it, did my head in, but I had no idea just how much life, and our little man, would change without it...

Cold turkey weaning was never part of the plan. We researched and read a lot about the kindest, gentlest ways to do it. It had to be a choice, or really we had to let the kid believe it was a choice. We kept telling J that once he turned three he would be a big boy and we talked constantly about giving the dummy to Santa, and getting a very special treat in return. Then my husband took him to visit family in Manila for a weekend and forgot to take one with him. I had removed one from J's mouth to brush his teeth before they walked out the door, and didn't put it back in, oops... I was convinced Dave would go straight to the nearest pharmacy and buy another one, but to his credit he weathered the weaning storm, solo. It wasn't an easy battle, and one I'm not sure I would've had the strength to fight, but he came home a different kid. He grew up that weekend.

Six weeks later he still asks for it, at least once a day, especially when he's tired and/or upset. He's also developed a bit of an oral fixation and sticks everything in his mouth. I read somewhere that that can happen when you wean them too late, which is a bit of a no brainer, but we're working on it. He doesn't stop talking either. He's always been a chatty kid, with a great vocabulary for his age, but now that there's nothing "silencing" him, he has come along verbally, in leaps and bounds, and we're astounded every day at the things he says.

His other "comfort item," is a scruffy dalmatian who goes by the name of Potts. Potts was once J's constant companion, and anytime he was tired he would ask for "a dummy and Potts," the two things being part of one whole comfort package. Sadly it seems they were a package deal, and poor Potts has been neglected since we lost the dummy. I always said it would break my heart the day that Potts was given up, and it has, because my little boy isn't my baby anymore. Watching him getting around on his own in the world, soothing himself when life gets him down, it makes me proud but still deeply sad. I was so determined to get rid of the damn dummy, but I had no idea what would unfold from that simple act of leaving the dummy behind. I guess I should be careful what I wish for... In the days when he still had a dummy, at bedtime Josh would lie in bed humming and twirling Potts' tail, it was a sweet little habit that instantly relaxed him. Now he just turns a few times and sighs, a little sadly, before surrendering to sleep. Some nights I listen to him and want to give the dummy back, just to keep him a baby for a little bit longer. Sad but true...

 



Through all of this I keep reminding myself that I still have "Baby Charlie," as he is known to his big brother. He never had a dummy, but he still drinks from a bottle and rocks a onesie like nobody's business, he sleeps in a cot and can't walk yet, and will be my baby for a little bit longer. I just have to ignore all the info I keep getting from Baby Centre, that refers to him as a "Toddler" and his absolute determination to grow up even faster than his sibling.

Moments

2012 has been an enormous year, as far as years go. In February we welcomed our baby Charlie, in the back of the car by the side of the road no less, and then we spent the next few months adjusting to life as a family of four. We were also trying to adjust to life with a child with complicated needs. As if that wasn't enough on our plates, we finally got around to renovating the house we call home.

I've never felt more challenged than I did this year, but our boys handled every hurdle we threw at them and then some. There were days of newborn anxiety and sleepless fog where we wondered what on Earth we had done. Days of desperation when we battled to understand Joshie's eye condition and searched for answers on how to help him. Days, and weeks, mid-renovation when all I wanted to do was go home. Days when we moved back in when I wanted to be anywhere but home. But, without sounding like a cliche, it has been one of the best years of my life. Being a family of four has opened the door to some incredible experiences, and some truly precious, often unexpected, moments of bliss. My boys make me smile every single day, no matter what chaos or heartache presents itself. I know that sounds trite to some, but I'm a "stay-at-home mum," and if I've learned anything this year, it's that I need to find the joy in the simplest things to get through all that comes with the gig. There are days when all I do is, literally, stay at home and be a mum. I'm grateful that it's something I had the luxury of choosing to do but there are days, at least once a week, when it does my head in. Days when I want out. Sometimes there are weeks when I feel that way every day, several times a day. And on those days when I wonder what the hell happened to my life and the plans and the person I wanted to be (who in no way resembles who I currently am), it's the moments - sometimes huge milestones, and at others tiny, fleeting, blink-of-an-eye type moments - that make me realise I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world.

These last few weeks when I haven't been writing I've been desperately composing posts in my mind, wanting to write about so many things. I wanted to write about Christmas and Josh turning three and all the moments in between, but I've been writing for a living this year, and to be perfectly honest, I'm a bit worded out. I'm a little bit stunned by how fast the year has gone, and how much we managed to pack into it, and I don't know if any "year in review" type post would really do it all justice. In 2012 our boys have grown in so many ways, and so have we, and we've kicked some pretty big goals. We spent Christmas, just the four of us, at home with a turkey dinner so big that we're still eating leftovers, and we felt truly lucky to be doing so. I never imagined I'd get to spend every day with three people that I love so much, and in years to come when I think about 2012, I won't remember the madness and the stress and the tears and tantrums (and yes, the typhoons), I'll just remember the moments, like the one in the photo above - the million little ways each day that my boys give my heart a squeeze and make it all worth it.

So, to you and yours, Happy New Year (or Happy New Ear as Josh would say). May 2013 be filled with beautiful moments.



(Photo courtesy of Suzanne Goodwin Photography, and no, I didn't have time to blow-dry my hair that day, I was too busy enjoying the moments)

Back

We've just come back from our first family holiday, and it was awesome! Five days in a campervan traversing the south island of New Zealand, five days in Queenstown and five days in Sydney. I spent two weeks in New Zealand, on the north island, when I was 15, but this was the first time I saw it properly. The air was clean, the people were friendly, the food was amazing, and around every corner we encountered jaw-dropping, breathtaking, truly spectacular scenery. I fell in love, completely and deeply, with the place and hope to have many, many more opportunities to visit.

The campervan seemed like a crazy idea, with two kids, a truckload of baggage and no fixed destination at the end of every day, but it was definitely the best way to travel, and we had the loveliest time. It was tough being in it all day and then all night but there were plenty of stops on what we affectionately came to call "Our Tour of New Zealand's Best Playgrounds."

It was the first lot of leave my husband has had in a long time, and certainly the first lot in a very long time that we actually used for its intended purpose. After the year we have had (you know, having a baby in the car, renovating and trips to eye doctors) we REALLY needed a holiday. It was exhausting at times and we filled every minute of every day, not just with the holiday stuff, but with the mountains of washing and dishes and all the other every day stuff you do with small children that never stops no matter where you are in the world. The boys excelled at adaptation to life outside of their comfort zone. We were in some kind of parallel time zone and all of us went to sleep together every night (kind of unavoidable in a camper van...). Being together like that was quite simply delightful.

We had fresh crayfish by the side of the road in Kaikoura and saw fur seals on the beach. We met another Aussie expat family in Blenheim and shared stories of life in Asia and campervan adventures. We drove along the north coast through the Marlborough Sounds, in awe of the sheer beauty of the place. We took a helicopter ride over the Franz Josef Glacier, terrified and ecstatic at the same time to be doing something so different and exciting. We played in the snow on Coronet Peak and sailed on Lake Wakitipu. The boys surprised us again with their patience while we visited a winery and had a bbq with friends in Queenstown. Our trip ended with a sobering tour of Christchurch, a beautiful city whose broken heart is still beating loud and true beneath the rubble.

To say I enjoyed this trip is quite an understatement. Josh and Charlie both grew up so much and while we had our moments, we bonded, in the way I always imagined families should when they're on holidays. Since we got back home a few days ago the real world has been a bit of a shock. Dealing with post-reno issues, paying for the holiday, all the usual blah blah every day crap is always a bummer after a break but apart from that I'm still on a high. I've come back feeling rejuvenated. Not relaxed by any means, it wasn't that kind of holiday, but I feel ready for another big year, a new project, maybe a few changes - and definitely another holiday in the not-too-distant future.

You Must Be Choking!

I love our life here, along with so many things about Hong Kong. During the summer when the sun shines and the sky is blue, it feels close to paradise, and I can see what must've drawn people here many years ago. On a clear day the view of Hong Kong island and the Kowloon peninsula, from anywhere in the territory, is spectacular. But it doesn't last long...

I've only ranted a couple of times about the air "situation" here because it does get boring. People who live here don't like it but they've come to accept that it's a part of life here, and ranting about it won't change anything. It's a bit like complaining to the poms that it rains in London, or telling the Aussies how expensive it is to live in Sydney - we know already! The trouble is, I can't accept the pollution, I can't turn a blind eye and just get on with it - it's the one thing that's stopping us from settling here permanently (sorry Mum). Once the wind changes direction at the end of summer the haze settles in like a thick, yellowish fog. You can smell it as soon as you step outside, some days you can smell it inside. The visibility drops significantly and you start to feel like you really shouldn't spend too much time outside, let alone attempt to exert yourself in the great outdoors. I find it suffocating and infuriating.

I don't understand enough about the composition of the air we breathe, or the pollutants in it, to give you an in-depth discussion on the topic, but I can give you a little summary based on what I understand.  There are a couple of different ways to measure "air quality" and a few different organisations around the place that measure it on a daily basis. The Local Environmental Protection Department have their own Air Pollution Index which is "the conversion of the ambient respirable suspended particulate (RSP), sulphur dioxide (SO₂), carbon monoxide (CO), ozone (O₃) and nitrogen dioxide (NO₂) concentrations." The level corresponds to a rating somewhere between 0-500, with 100 being the limit according to HK Air Quality Objectives. Anything over that represents a level of pollutants in the air which would be "harmful to human health." The most common criticism of this is that Hong Kong's government has set its own objectives and measuring system, and these are way too high by international standards. According to the Clean Air Network, a local NGO, "Hong Kong’s Air Quality Objectives, recommended maximum guidelines for 7 pollutants, permit pollutant levels 2-4 times greater than those recommended under the WHO AQGs." The warning system, which tells people basically when to avoid going outside, kicks in at too high a level as well, and this leads to a lot of people getting very sick each year because they do crazy stuff like exercising or breathing... (For more info on the API see here).

Some say the pollution comes from trucks and ships that use "dirty" fuels and coal fired power stations, others say it all comes from the mainland factories just across the border - I say it's a combination of these things, combined with a government that doesn't care enough. Since we moved to HK 5 years ago, there have been a number of days on which the pollution levels have not only exceeded the WHO threshold for what is considered safe, but they have set new records for Hong Kong's pollution readings. Every year it seems a new record is set, and the number of days that the pollution levels are hazardous are increasing. There was a day this summer when the API reached something like 250, and it was so bad it made the news in other parts of the world. People on the street were struggling to breathe and I was sure there was more pollution in the air than actual oxygen! 

In the short term this poor quality air can lead to watery eyes, sneezing, coughing, sinus pain and irritation, and a tight, burning feeling in the throat and chest, but who knows what it means for our health in the long term? It's certainly not good for my mum guilt! We spent the afternoon at the beach today, ignoring the fact that we couldn't see the horizon, and both boys came home coughing and rubbing their eyes. I feel pretty rotten myself, and the EPD website tells me the main pollutant today was "Respirable Suspended Particulate" (aka dust, organic matter, nitrates, sulphates etc) which can "penetrate deep into the lungs" - great! According to one independent air quality watchdog, the number of particulates in the air was 21 times higher than the WHO limit for safety. 21 times!

Whatever all the numbers mean, however you measure it and wherever it comes from, one thing is certain - we shouldn't have to inhale the crap that we do. And I don't want my boys growing up in a place where toxic air is such a routine part of life that we just don't mention it anymore. It's only October and the wind won't change direction again for at least 6 months, and I've already had enough. Time for a holiday?

Trash or Treasure?

A little while ago I wrote about our renovation, and I'm thrilled to say that, 12 weeks later, it's 99% done. I'll get to that another time but I'm mentioning it today because while we were renovating we had a bit of a clear out and that's what I'm writing about now. We couldn't make our house any bigger, we just had to be very clever about the space that we have, and really decide what was important to us - something we should have done years ago.

I was dead keen to get rid of the old IKEA furniture that came with the house, and Dave was determined that there was no way the old TV was coming back. I managed to reduce the number of toys we had accumulated, and a fair few clothes and books went to charity. We tried to clear out while we packed up, and it felt cathartic initially, but then we ran out of time and shoved things in boxes with the intention of sorting through it when we moved back in. We put a bit in storage and took a lot with us to the house we were staying in. As we went along we shopped for new things and had to figure out where to keep them, and we were very grateful when friends offered to look after things for us. In the end we moved 4 times, had our belongings spread across no less than 6 houses, and on our final move managed to whittle down the essentials to one suitcase and a few boxes of food and toys. It was at that end point, when looking at what we actually needed, what had followed us from one house to the next, that we realised something - we own a lot of crap.

We moved back in two weeks ago, and we still haven't unpacked all the boxes, and we still have things  in storage, but we're almost there. And we are throwing things out or giving them away on a daily basis. There are times when choosing what to throw out, and what to put into storage, has been quite easy. There have been a couple of heated debates about things like whether or not I really need to hang onto my teaching resources from 2003, and if there is a more appropriate place for Dave's model aeroplanes than the bedside table, but mostly we have agreed on what stays, and what goes. We each have one piece or furniture that we have had longer than we've had each other, and neither of them fit into our new aesthetic, but they have stayed and been put to good use. I've mostly enjoyed looking at what we have, and remembering why we've kept it. We both love things that have a history, and all of the pieces of furniture or knick knacks that we have held onto have that in spades, but they also still have a purpose - everything else has had to go. Clothes I haven't worn in the last 12 months, books we haven't read (or books we read and didn't like), old sheets and towels, mismatched dinner plates and cutlery, blinds that no longer fit the windows, and anything broken or unusable is no longer with us.

The things I've found the hardest to let go of have been the baby things. Friends of ours have, just this weekend, welcomed twin boys. I was more than happy to pass on clothes my boys had grown out of, with the exception of the outfits they each wore home from the hospital, and the little onesie I bought for Charlie the day I found out I was having another boy, but I also found myself keeping anything that was gender neutral. I've still got the majority of my maternity clothes, and anything baby related that I found essential. Even though we don't think a third child is a good idea, I keep putting things away "just in case." I sold a few big items recently and it hurt deep inside in a way I didn't expect. We had a bouncer that both boys sat in as newborns, and the moses basket that was Josh's first bed, neither of which were irreplaceable, but I remembered my excitement when I bought them, and the moments of joy that were attached to each of them. I sold a Fisher Price rocker this week - the chair where both boys sat for their first taste of real food. As I was packing it up Dave reminded me of how Josh used to play with the tag on one of the toys for hours on end, and I choked up. It's silly to be attached to things like that, especially when they take up so much room, and are no longer necessary but I can't help it. I'm not sure if I'm struggling with the fact that my boys really aren't babies anymore, or with the idea that there won't be any more babies... Maybe it's a bit of both, but I'm really not ready to let go, no matter how much we need to clear out.

So the gorgeous new version of the house we're now lucky to be living in is free of outdated IKEA furniture, and the teaching resources are tidily packed up and stored away, but if you look closely you'll find a white onesie here, and a swaddle there, and a co-sleeper under the bed; just in case.

R U OK? - The Tunnel

Today is R U OK Day: "a national day of action on the second Thursday of September (13 September 2012), dedicated to inspiring all people of all backgrounds to regularly ask each other ‘Are you ok?'" 
I had a conversation just yesterday that inspired me to write about this great initiative and to share a very personal story with you all.

Some describe depression as a black dog, others say it is like a fog, or a dark cloud. One friend described it as an abyss. For me it feels like a tunnel, spiralling down, dark and full of twists and turns. I was depressed after Josh was born. It took me a long time to figure out what it was and even longer to admit to it, but I was in a very dark place. I finally had almost everything I wanted - a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby boy, and we had just bought our first home. I felt like I should have been happier than I was, and I hated that I didn't feel like I was "supposed to." I also worried constantly: I worried about whether or not I was a good mother, I worried about whether J was eating enough, whether he was warm enough, if he was happy, if I would be able to put him to sleep at night, how I would cope if I couldn't get him to sleep, whether he loved me and knew how much I loved him; it was constant and endless. I was so highly strung that I couldn't put Josh to bed at night. If he was even remotely unsettled (and he almost always was) I became a nervous wreck. I dreaded 5 o'clock when the wind down/dinner/bath/bed routine began because I knew we'd be up for hours, pacing the floor with a crying baby and I felt like we'd be doing that dance for the rest of our lives. There was no joy in any of it.

Despite that I still felt blessed, and that was an issue in itself. When I realised how close I was to having the life I always dreamed of, a sense of foreboding came over me and I became terrified that it was all going to be taken away. Worrying about the men in my life was more than I could bear, so I directed that anxious energy into worrying about myself. My hormones were wreaking havoc, and I felt like crap physically - no one had told me that pregnancy was going to have such a huge impact on my body - and I was sure that every ache, every pain, every little symptom was a major illness. After all, I hadn't really done anything to deserve the wonderful life I had, why would I be lucky enough to keep it? I was so afraid of everything, all the time. It cast a shadow over the first 12 months of J's life and there were times when I thought my husband was either going to leave or have me committed. I remember clearly feeling pretty low one day, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not muster any enthusiasm for anything. In frustration my husband pointed out that I was pulling everyone around me into the tunnel, that same darkness. It was a wake up call.

I wanted someone to see what was happening to me and to show me how to get back to the light. I didn't fit the textbook definition of postnatal depression so I never went to anyone and said "hey, I think I've got PND, can you help me?" I never talked about what was going on, I just couldn't verbalise it. Things really turned around one day when my doctor (who was frankly sick of seeing me) asked if I was happy. I burst into tears and admitted that actually, no, I wasn't. From then on I had to make a conscious effort and seek professional help to pull myself out of the tunnel and back into the land of the living, one step at a time. But it wasn't until I fell pregnant again that I started to feel like I had really walked away from it. It was brought on by a combination, and a culmination, of factors around the time Josh was born, and I was so scared towards the end of my second pregnancy that I was going to go to that dark place again, that I was determined to "get it right" the second time.

For the first few days after Charlie was born I was riding high on oxytocin and adrenaline and I felt like I had finally put the tunnel behind me. Then came the crash. Being on standby as a milkbar 24 hours a day had taken its toll and I ached all over. I wasn't able to spend as much time with J as I would have liked and he punished me for it. I hopped into bed with him one night to read stories and he screamed for Daddy and hit me in the face. I pushed on and read to him through my tears but it left me feeling like it was all just too damn hard. I had a similar thought the same night at 3am when Charlie was simultaneously vomiting and pooping on my chest... I felt that same familiar stone in the pit of my stomach, pulling me downwards, that urge to run and hide. But I talked about it. I told my husband what I was feeling. I organised a home visit from the lovely Yvonne Heavyside at The Family Zone. I took care of myself, and stayed in my pyjamas. I played with Josh, and napped with Charlie. I called my friends, and I pulled myself out of it.

The conversation I had yesterday revolved around that awful, gut-churning anxiety that I now know many new parents experience at some point. There were a few of us who all had kids around the same age and we had all experienced daily freak-outs about something during those early months of motherhood. Whether it was over taking baby out on an excursion, or settling a colicky newborn, or struggling with breastfeeding (or in my case, all of the above), we were all sitting in our houses, stressed and miserable at roughly the same time, feeling crap and alone. But we weren't alone, we just didn't know it. This revelation was both reassuring and heartbreaking at the same time - if only I had said something to someone I may have spared myself a whole lot of angst...

My experience with Charlie has been completely different, but it has taken a concerted effort on my part to stay out of the tunnel. It still comes rushing towards me at times, like when I watch the news, or consider getting on a plane, or when I hear of a mother getting sick and leaving her babies behind too soon. But right now I am OK, better than OK, and loving life. We were lucky - we made it through those dark days, but so many don't. And R U OK Day is for them.

If I've learned anything from this it's that there's no shame in asking for help. It's hard to ask for help, but it's harder still to live through depression and anxiety alone. Whether you need help, or you know someone who might, please reach out today.

Grown Up Stuff

We've been busy going about our business lately, caught up in our renovations and daily life with two beautifully busy boys, quietly in denial about the severity of Josh's eye condition. Then a few weeks ago we had a massive reality check when his ophthalmologist (a word I'm really getting sick of writing, so will now refer to her as the Oph.) presented his case at a conference. She got back to us with a recommendation we'd been dreading - surgery.

There wasn't a general consensus at the conference amongst all the Ophs that were there, only discussion that surgery was an option worth exploring. It has been done, with success on patients with similar conditions, but J's particular condition is so rare, that no one knows exactly what the outcome would be. It could be an improvement, or it might not change anything. If he doesn't respond well, if his eye reacts badly to the procedure, or if the structure of the eye is in anyway compromised, it could very well make things worse. It's a roll-the-dice type scenario and we are more than terrified. Our Oph was hesitant to say one way or the other what we should do, which makes decision making pretty difficult, but she did say we need to make a decision soon.

We then saw an Oph here, a great guy, a rare treat in a city where decent specialists are few and far between. He also used the "S" word, but explained it to us in a way that made us realise we didn't really have a choice. It's now not a matter of if, but when... There's a fairly small window of opportunity here, while his brain and eye develop neural pathways between each other. The good news is that his vision was better when he was small so he already has the foundations laid, but as the condition progresses (and by progresses I mean, gets worse), what he sees is less clear and the brain can't decipher it as easily, so it may very well shut off the right eye. Surgery would remove the obstacle, his lens, and hopefully give him a better line of vision. He'd have to wear a contact lens and his glasses and I imagine, initially, he won't like that very much.

There are so, so, so many unknowns and it feels like a giant leap of faith. We also need to decide where to have the surgery - here, where everything is familiar and comfortable - or in Sydney, where the better specialists and family are, but where it's all a bit different and less comfortable. I suddenly feel very old. When did I become responsible for making these major decisions for another person? We're talking about our son having usable vision in one of his eyes, or not, how do we possibly make that call, knowing he will have to live with it forever if it doesn't work out? On the other hand, doing nothing could also be a really bad move. I'm torn between wanting to protect the little guy from the ordeal of general anaesthesia, hospital and a potentially long recovery, and the knowledge that we really need to do what it is in our power to do, to save his eyesight and give him a decent shot at maybe one day driving a car, backpacking around the world on his own, and doing all the other things us sighted people take for granted.

When I was 14 I had major surgery on my jaw. The doctors sold it to my parents as being necessary to prevent future problems. They trusted the advice they were given, and I had the surgery, spent a night in intensive care, a week in hospital, and six weeks eating through a straw. I woke up from the anaesthesia and the first thing I saw was my mum, crying beside the bed. I was high on pethidine and didn't know what she was so upset about. Even when I saw my bruised, swollen and unrecognisable self in the mirror later that day, I still didn't get it. Faced with the prospect of being on the other side of the bed, being that parent, I finally do understand, and I really wish I didn't.