On equanimity

What do you find attractive in a mate? What do you look for in a friend? What quality makes you feel most loved and secure?

Most of us don’t really know. Those of us that do have a ‘feeling’. We call that feeling Love. But we are wrong.

Love is important but as some of us know; Sometimes Love isn’t enough.

Love without loyalty won’t last. Love without faithfulness won’t make you feel secure. Love without strength isn’t powerful enough to let you relax.

Who wants to live the mantra ‘I know they love me but…’? Not me.

I need equanimity.

Flakey, shaky, flighty, moody, chameleon, temperamental, two-faced, inconsistent, indecisive, shifty, insincere, egotistical make me nervous, insecure, restless.

I crave equanimity.

All is well in my world when I know that the people around me love me enough to not be moved by my shit. That they will stand up to me in my own best interest. That they will walk through the valley of hell with me. They will love me even when they don’t like me. Then, I’m safe.

The love I receive is faithful, strong, staunch, sure, grounded & true. Or it simply isn’t enough. Fact.

This is the love I give to my son. I will be here, loving you, come hell or high water, forever. This equanimity holds his world together. I am no different.

Equanimity is the glue that holds my pieces together.

Margin for error

My son can be described as sweet, compassionate, excitable, intelligent, short, unreasonably strong for his size (just ask my Nanna), musical, extroverted, intuitive… and a million other words. But I will spare you the proud Mum ramblings.

The single word that possibly describes my baby best is ‘staunch’.

1. Firm and steadfast; true. See Synonyms at faithful.
2. Having a strong or substantial construction or constitution.

My baby has had a debilitating ear infection for a minimum of 3 months! He as had about 5 upper respiratory infections in that time and no less that 3 random (or so we thought) raging fevers. He has been sensitive and moody at times, but for the most part he has been his sweet, happy, energetic, caring self. One word. Staunch.

He has also been more cheeky. He stopped listening to my requests. So I got frustrated. I was consistent in my discipline with time outs and removing toys. I even yelled. I yelled more than I liked to yell. Yet I kept yelling because it was the only thing he would pay attention to. I now know that it was only my yelling that he was hearing.

I have been yelling at my sick baby. Few realisations make you feel quite as small as that. My baby has been in and out of the Doctors office feeling like hell, with a permanent sinus infection, partial deafness, infected ears, stuffy noses and sore throats for months. His Mum has been yelling at him the whole time and still he doesn’t complain. Staunch.

He can communicate, yet he couldn’t tell us what was wrong. The Doctor has looked in his ears a million times and never seen the minute difference in the ear drum. I have researched for hours and hours and we all missed it.

Sometimes the margin of error is tiny and yet it’s implications are huge.

PS I called this post Margin of error because I already have a post called Epic Mum Fail. And I am trying to see the lesson in this as opposed to just heating myself black and blue.

Rant

Ok, I know I’m pregnant and therefore a little more volatile emotional. This isn’t about my pregnancy (one would hope no one ever makes this mistake with me). This is one of those ‘unspoken’ injustices that women face whilst pregnant. Something that makes my blood boil.

In the US a woman was refused a single glass of wine, on the basis that she was pregnant.

EXCUSE ME?!?

If you have ever been in public with a sizable baby bump you will have experienced the way society seems to consider you public property. People stare. People ask improper questions. People touch your belly without permission. People [try to] make decisions for you. It is ridiculous, ludicrous and at times offensive.

For some reason society at large hasn’t come to grips with what we won waaaay back in the 60′s; A woman’s body is her own. Full stop. No debate.

Adults are considered capable of, and responsible for, acknowledging and managing risks in their lives. To drink or not to drink. What diet and exercise is appropriate. To drive or not. To base-jump or not. What drugs (prescription and otherwise) to consume. How much sleep to get. Each of these decisions have risks, health implications and consequences.

We trust each other to make these decisions daily. Unless you are a pregnant woman.

Should we prevent pregnant women from buying Nurofen because it can seriously harm a developing foetus? Should Sushi Train discriminate against pregnant women? Should Coles prevent you from buying soft cheese if you have a baby bump? Some essential oils are considered an abortifacient, so should pregnant women be denied perfume in case they catch a whiff of Clary Sage?

Yes I am getting extreme. I am trying to make a point. My pregnant body is still mine. When my child is born it will be entrusted to me, it’s mother. I am capable of making proper decisions about my body and my baby. You wouldn’t dream of interjecting about what foods a mother feeds her baby, or what she consumes whilst breastfeeding so extend the same courtesy to her when she is pregnant.

Of course there are 2 sides to any story;

Do you feel a misplaced sense of responsibility for pregnant women (or the children they are carrying)?

Or do you wish people would leave well enough alone when you are ‘expecting’?

*This is the blog that sparked my wrath and I got the pic here

More certain, not more prepared

I was a super prepared mum-to-be. Borderline obsessive. My midwife commented a number of times during my labour that I was simply ‘too composed’ for a first time Mum. My birth was so tranquil that no one knew when I had hit transition.

I had done my homework and yet there were a million things I was totally blindsided by. The baby, for one. His Daddy placed him on my chest and I was shocked. Where the hell did this little person come from and why was everybody looking at me, waiting? Then there was the placenta. I have to birth that too? Now?! Can’t I have a rest first? Then there was the size of the placenta – it was over 2kg (that is over 4 pounds)! Then there was the blood, the hemorrhoids, the discomfort of the first feed – I thought I birthed a baby, not a damn vacuum - and the contracting uterus.

Then after it all, everybody went home. And left me alone, in a dark room, with a newborn baby. Suddenly my preparation came sharply into perspective; I was about to climb Mt. Everest in a sundress and my supplies consisted of glossy magazines and a picnic basket. I was beyond screwed – I had screwed up. I hadn’t had any sleep in over 24 hours, I had exerted more energy than I knew I had and I was now responsible for a human in its most vulnerable state. I did the only thing I could do.

Me: You can’t go. I have no idea what I’m doing!

Midwife: (Smiling) You will be fine.

Me: No, seriously, no-one would have trusted me with a newborn yesterday – what’s changed?

Midwife: Try to get some rest. When he stirs breastfeed him. Change his nappy if he needs it. Press the call button if you need to.

That night certainly wasn’t the last I have laid awake confused, overwhelmed, scared as a parent. There is no terror more potent than fearing for the health/safety of your child. And yet, I signed up for round two. Am I more prepared, you ask? No, not really. I have just come to realise there is no greater privilege, joy or fulfillment for me than to utter the first words I said to my son; ‘I’m your Mummy. I’m going to take care of you. And you can be anything you want to be.’

4 types of tears

I have heard of 4 seasons in one day. I have experienced 4 moods in a day. Who am I kidding – I have had 4 moods in an hour. Today was a first. Today I had 4 types of tears in a day;

Angry tears

We all know these tears. They come at the worts time. You are so angry you could explode. You are trying to keep your voice even when you want to screech. Your rage is building and all you want is to make the other understand your position. You need them to understand. And your body goes and betrays you – you burst into tears.

This morning it was my son, being cheeky, then back-chatting me, kicking the game over and finally sitting with his back to me saying ‘I’m ignoring you, Mum’. At least I didn’t yell.

Sad tears

The most common type of tears. They are best defined by what they are not. Generic sadness. Not quite grief. Not quite heartbreak. Not quite wracking sobs. Just tears. Something saddens you, upsets you, pulls at your heart-strings and the waterworks begin.

Later this morning after the ‘ignoring incident’ where Mr 2 was sat in the ‘thinking corner’ of the couch to ponder his behavior he promptly fell asleep amidst his apology. Sleep. At 11.30am. Most mothers would be silently dancing around the room with joy. But my baby is sick. This isn’t the tiredness of a child running in the sunshine. The tears just flowed.

Helpless tears

These tears are new to me. From what I can tell they are reserved only for situations where you are unable to or ineffectual in your attempt to help a loved one. I have only ever experienced them when a loved one is ill in some way.

This afternoon, leaving the Dr’s office I simply couldn’t stop them rolling down my cheeks. He assured me that the referral I clutched was for the best Dr in his field and that my waiting period was remarkably short. He also warned that none of the efforts I was making would help in any way what so ever, except for making me feel useful. Great.

Grateful tears

These are often mistaken as happy tears. There is a difference. A subtle difference. Grateful tears are tears of pure thanks. Something reminds you how very lucky you are; to be alive, to have the family you do, to be exactly where you are and the gratitude is expressed physically as little drops cascading down your cheeks.

Later this afternoon, when we arrived home. Mr 2 sitting in his Daddy’s lap pretending to drive the car in the driveway. Cooper is luminescent with joy and his Daddy is sitting in awe. Powderfinger’s ‘Burn your Name’ (one of our wedding songs) comes on the radio. I am utterly struck by exactly how blessed I am to be wife and mother to these beautiful men.

Yes, I am hormonal, sleep-deprived, stressed, exhausted and generally sentimental but what a day…

Preparation

The universe has a beautiful way of preparing me for what comes next. An art so beautiful, organic and simple that I miss the clues if I am not paying enough attention.

I have a good idea of what is coming next. I have been pregnant before. I can expect in the next 6 months to be more and more at the mercy of my body as she does what she must to create life. I serve my body as best I can and she goes about the most amazing miracle ever witnessed on earth. For the following 6 months after that I can expect to be at the beck and call of a tiny, pure blob of divinity incarnate as a child. It is not what I am being prepared for that I am listening to. Its the how that has my attention.

I am being reminded to let go of the parts of my life that will not support me in the next 12 months. I am being gently corralled into the mindset of service. I am being asked to let go of my wants, and to follow my needs. I am being nudged, strings are being pulled, the unhelpful are being weeded. The process is slow, gradual, but by no means subtle.

Mother nature is thorough. Everything she does has a clear purpose, and I am content (in my enlightened moments) to accept that I may never understand her purpose for me. But I do understand what mother nature is doing now. The morning sickness is to take my focus from my mental sphere and bring me into my body. The lethargy is to curb my immediate ambitions, to force me to prioritise what I do. The insistent cold that lingers because it cannot be medicated safely is to remind me that the baby comes first. The weakened state of my body that hasn’t the reserves to build little organs and fight an infection is to force me to ask for help. The lost voice is to remind me to witness more and talk less; it is time to go within.

There are no mistakes. We may not know why all the levers are pulled when they are, but we can rest assured they create the perfect conditions to prepare us for what lies beyond.

Are you paying attention? What are you being asked to prepare for?

*image credit

Cravings

Before I was pregnant I had cravings. The normal cravings every woman (and some blokes) get. Ice cream, chocolate, Japanese food, pizza. Usually after a bad day, a blood sugar low or a hormone spike/crash. Often these cravings were a thinly veiled justification to eat something sugary or fatty.

These are not cravings. These are little mental stories we tell ourselves about what it is we want to eat and why. I.e. I need a bag of jelly beans. I crave them when I am studying. Or We are eating pizza for dinner, I have been craving that fantastic chili prawn pizza all week.

Asking someone if they have really had a craving is similar to asking women if they have ever had an orgasm. If the answer is not a resounding “Yes!” then it’s a no. If you have a craving you know it. Really, know it. Like every cell of your body refuses to process another command until you get this random food.

They are sudden, they are undeniable, they are specific and they are powerful.

Mid conversation a craving (in this case for cheese Twisties) hit and before I utter another word my neck extends like a Meerkat on patrol and snaps to the side fast enough to give me whiplash. ‘Twisties!” I splutter as though it is my last request. That very moment I begin to salivate, my head starts to spin and I begin to feel light-headed. Heaven forbid anybody get between me and the nearest packet of Twisties because I cannot be held responsible for that I would do to them. My home will not be a happy one unless I get Twisties in the forseeable future.

Cravings bother me. I am a rational, measured, calm and accommodating person. Cravings are not. Thankfully my husband is, and Seven11 and Franklins are a 2 minute walk away.

Some of my cravings to date, in no particular order: (remember I am only at the beginning of the second trimester)

• Macaroni and Cheese
• Watermelon
• Milk Chocolate (I am a Dark chocolate person normally)
• Pizza
• Sushi (this is an almost every other day craving)
• Mashed Potato
• Frozen Ham and Pineapple Pizza (yes that specific)
• Salt and vinegar chips
• Sour Cream and Sweet Chili Sauce on anything (if all else fails bread)
• Cream cheese, alfalfa sprouts, tomato and beetroot sandwiches
• Turkey, cranberry sauce and cheese toasties
• Ginger beer
• Lime and Passion fruit Sorbet
• Canned spaghetti on hot buttered toast
• Twisties
• Yum Cha
• Pies
• Toast smothered in Peanut Butter

Turbulance

When I catch up with people I havent seen in a while they inevitably end up asking a few of the same questions;

• How are you feeling?
• Is it [the morning sickness] as bad as last time?
• When do you find out what sex the baby is? (Everybody knows I hate surprises!)
• How was Cairns?
• How did Cooper go on the plane?

The first 4 answers are stock standard. Crap. No. About 21 weeks. Great! The last one makes me smile every time.

Cooper was great, terrible, trying and adorable on the plane. He was polite to the air hostesses. He was as quiet as a 2 year old can be for 3 hours at a time. He was as still as a 2 year old can be for 3 hours at a time. Which is to say he talked and moved more that I’d like. He listened to classical music through his headphones with the concentration that a teenage ‘emo’ listens to their ipod. (But without the raincloud hovering over him.) He had the seat belt worked out before the seat belt sign came on on the tarmac, so he was far more free in the cabin than was entirely safe. But he also had the brace position down to a ‘T’, so he knew how to be  safe if was actually in his seat when the turbulence struck.

Thankfully, he was in his seat when the turbulence struck. We had a very turbulent landing. Not in the ‘Gee that was rough’ kinda way. The passengers closest to us were actually in the brace position as we came in to land. I was nauseas (when am I not these days?) and slightly green but sitting upright. I didn’t want to frighten Cooper. I had nothing to worry about. He was pointing out the window at all the cool things he was seeing. Clouds, little tiny cars on teeny tiny roads, minuscule buildings and beaches. His smile was as bright as the setting sun. His muscles were relaxed and he was totally at ease.

The thought of that landing always brings a smile to my face. Yes, in part because I didn’t throw up on the man beside me. Also because we were coming home to my darling husband. But mostly because it showed me innocence in action. Cooper was totally free of judgement, absolutely fearless, joyful, in the moment and only seeing the magic of the moment. I know one day he will see the risks, the inconveniences, the fear like most adults. I can only hope he doesn’t completely loose his joy.

Mum Fail, Again

My two-year-old has changed tremendously in recent months. So much so I am honestly struggling to keep up with him. I am ok with him using words I can’t remember using in front of him. I can cope with him putting 2 and 2 together. I even think it is adorable that he has begun to give me orders like ‘I think you need a shower Mummy. It will make you feel better. Go on, do it now.‘ And how he directs me to eat even when ‘morning sickness’ is telling me the opposite ‘It’s dinner time Mum. You should eat now anyway.’

What drives me insane is that his little brain  is curious and clever. He decided the other day to take apart the vacuum cleaner. The day before that he tried to get into the belly of his toy screw-driver to see how it worked. Whenever he finds a real screw driver he goes and tightens the bolts on his table and chairs. Yes, for real. He has half a book memorised already and we only began reading it to him at bedtime 5 days ago. All of these things should be good, right?

Well yes and no. Yes because he is obviously enjoying exploring his world and no because I am at a loss as how to keep him entertained and challenged. Every day I try to cover something educational; the alphabet, numbers from 1-20, how to tell the time, geometry, animal documentaries, reading books. Sometimes he is interested, sometimes he isn’t. I try to do something crafty every day. He loves to paint, draw, use chalk, colour. He is obsessed with learning to use scissors and glue. It might have something to do with his recent obsession with going to school. Real school. Big school.

So I got ballsy and set up paper mache… What was I thinking? Was I even thinking at all? Obviously my brain got up and walked away on its own two legs. I watered down wood glue and put it in a big tray in front of a toddler. In the middle of my living room. Insanity! Of course he splashed his hands in it. Of course we argued that glue splatters were not a design feature for my couch. Of course he got bored within 5 minutes. Of course I ended up covered in glue (in fact I think I am still malting little dried bits of wood glue even now). To top it off as soon as I hung the balloon to dry it popped and the paper mache is now a crumpled mess hanging from my bathroom ceiling.

*Sigh* Epic Mum Fail. I hope one day I get the hang of this.

Abomination cupcakes

Remember how I said a while back I am pretty good at research. I think I spend a minimum of 1.5 hours every day researching something. Often it is as boring as Professional Indemnity Insurance, other times is something geeky like downloading and unpacking primary school syllabus so I can better guide my toddler and sometimes it is how to make delicious treats that don’t turn my toddler into a screaming maniac. Below is the result of one such research session. (Gee I promise I’m not quite as boring as that paragraph suggests.)

If you aren’t a Mum, these are a relatively healthy cake recipe that you are bound to have the ingredients for in your cupboard right now. Just use a vegetable oil instead of applesauce.

Abomination cupcakes (a.k.a kid friendly cakes)

This is a variation of a vegan cake recipe. I have reduced the total sugar content because my son (and plenty of others) can do without loads of refined sugars. I replaced the oil with applesauce. I prefer unsweetened. And reduced the total liquid content to adjust for the liquid content of apple sauce. Note: Any pureed fruit will do so feel free to substitute what you have on hand.

Ingredients:

• 1 large lemon (juice and rind)
• 1 ½ cups all wholemeal plain flour
• ½ cup sugar
• 1 tsp. bicarb soda
• 6 tbsp. apple sauce
• 1 tsp. vinegar (Yep, vinegar, but I promise you, you won’t taste it.)
• Water

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 180°celcius
2. Put flour, sugar and baking soda into a mixing bowl. Mix them together fairly well. A wooden spoon will do.
3. In a plastic jug (easier for little hands to pour) add the zest of the lemon, the juice of the lemon and 6 tbsp of apple sauce. (I zest and juice directly into the jug to save on washing up.)
4. Now add water to the jug until the whole mixture combined is 1 cup (250ml).
5. Pour your lemon juice mixture into your bowl of dry ingredients. And add 1 tbs of vinegar to the mix. (You won’t taste it.)
6. Mix well with a wooden spoon. NB Mixture will foam. That is expected when you add bicarb soda and vinegar/lemon juice. This might be a good time for a science lesson if your kids are receptive.
7. Spoon mixture into patty pans in a cupcake tray. Fill each pan ¾ full. TIP If little hands are helping, it is worth putting the batter into a ziplock bag and cutting off the corner to make a little piping bag. It is far easier to handle than a spoon.
8. Bake until the centre of the cupcake is lightly springy to the touch. I use 12 min for little cupcakes and 15 for muffin sized cupcakes (they won’t have the muffin top).
9. Ice as you prefer. I leave them un-iced or at a push lightly dist with icing sugar. But as most icing is sugar laden, icing is a special occasion treat in our house. Then we do icing so well we ship it to friends in containers to eat by the spoon, Really.

Cheeky Monkey

From last week on, expect to find me musing about motherhood on a Monday. Weekends are ‘family time’ in our household and so there is usually plenty for me to chew over and ponder. Like what was I thinking when I decided to have kids? How much had I been drinking? And did I ever actually decide?

Sometimes I will share some of the funnier aspects of motherhood. For example we were walking through our local shopping center recently and my son was singing happily. He does that a LOT. He has recently discovered that songs aren’t written is stone and that he can change words to change the meaning. Fantastic! That is another milestone ticked off. Well his change ticked me off too. He started singing;

“Old McDonald had a farm E-I-E-I-O. And on that farm he had a Mummy E-I-E-I-O. With a Moo Moo here and a Moo Moo there…”

“Are you calling Mummy a Cow?” I ask, expecting him to say he was just being silly. No such luck.

“Yep! Mummy is a Moo-Cow. Moo!” Delightful, just delightful.

Worse still he has a habit of copying his father. (Yeah, you already have that ‘oh dear’ feeling don’t you?) Well my husband is still sickeningly in love with me, *awwww* and as never been put off by my changing body. He still finds it sexy! How lucky am I to have picked a delusional man to marry! Anyhow, Cooper hears his father call me sexy often. And I have a habit of tickling the top of Cooper’s thighs (just under his bum) because it is his most ticklish spot. So Cooper walks up behind me, and using his big boy manners, asks “Hey sexy lady, can I play with your bum?” Yet another talk about boundaries and appropriateness ensued. I had to wait until later to burst into laughter.

Real names, real embarrassing

I have a thing about raising my son in the real world. We teach him the names for vegetables, explain where beef and chicken comes from, give him real explanations about differences in race, culture and religion and taught him all the proper names for his body parts.

There are obvious advantages we see to this type of parenting; there is no backtracking to explain lies later, no embarrassing bullshit explanations that can be repeated in company, no later rebellion when he realises that Baa Baa Black Sheep is actually on his dinner plate.

I didn’t think about the disadvantages though. They aren’t quite so obvious.

We had about 40 minutes, once at our gate, to wait before boarding our flight to Cairns. There is nothing worse than dragging a toddler through an airport at high speeds then asking them to sit still and calm for 3 hours. Trust me, I have done that before. We were sitting across from a young Scandinavian family (no stereotyping here, from the comics the children were reading it was obvious) in the lounge; Mum, Dad and 2 girls about 4 and 7. It was just then that my darling little man decides it’s a good time to put his hand down his pants. (As a side note we have rules about that; 1) at home with no guests go for it 2) in public don’t even think about it, it could offend people.)

I lean over and whisper that we are in public, and that it’s not ok to put your hands down your pants. To which he replies, at the top of his lungs, “BUT I WANT TO PLAY WITH MY PENIS NOW!” Yeah, you guessed it, I couldn’t find a hole to crawl into and he just didn’t let up with the playing or the running commentary. When I thought I would just die with embarrassment the beautiful Scandinavian Mum across from me leans over and, with a smile, says ‘It’s a wonderful age, isn’t it?’ Damn! I was hoping she couldn’t speak English.

*Photo credit